Uncharted: Redemption
by TheWhiteCrowStanley
Summary: Picks up from the end of Uncharted 4. *SPOILERS* Instead of dying, Rafe is unwillingly rescued by the Drakes. Nadine thinks that makes Sam responsible for him. This is a non-slash-non-smut fic that will contain non-sexual, disciplinary spankings and similar punishments. You've been warned. Focuses on Sam, Rafe, and Sully- Nathan Drake won't make an appearance until later chapters.
1. Chapter One

The harsh sun blinded him as soon as the deck door was opened, and Rafe was unceremoniously shoved forward before he had time to adjust. This was the first time he had seen direct sunlight in _months_. Even when he was transported aboard the ship it was dark outside. He sneezed violently in reaction and held up his arms to shade his eyes.

"This way," one of his escorts commanded, pushing him in the right direction.

Rafe stumbled forward without complaint. He wasn't going to give them any more reason to enjoy this than they already had. Once his eyes adjusted he was able to make out the blurry forms on the loading dock across from them. One was Nadine Ross, that treacherous bitch. He was so fucking close to the treasure and she- He took a deep breath. Anger right now wasn't going to help him with anything; he just had to make it through the game.

Speaking intently with Nadine was Victor Sullivan, chomping on a cigar as usual. Sully was alright; Rafe really didn't have any grudges against him. He just wished he had found the smuggler before more… tarnished people had. He seemed like a loyal person to have on your side, and surprisingly useful for his age. If those two were the only ones waiting there for him, he might even look forward to the rest of the day. Infuriatingly, that was not the case.

Next to Victor, huffing on a cigarette, was the last person in the world Rafe wanted to see, save through cross-hairs. His stomach began to churn with hate just from the sight of him. Samuel Drake- the man who had betrayed him not once, but _three times_ , who humiliated him in front of an army and destroyed his dreams and ambitions with one step on a pressure plate. _Samuel._ Rafe seethed and had to take a moment to regain his composure. The last few months had been unpleasant, but now that he was actually here seeing that man, he'd _much_ rather be back down in his cell being taunted by the guards. Somehow on the walk from the deck to the dock he was able to school his features back into a calm, even pleasant expression.

"Here he is," Nadine spoke up at his approach, "No harm done, just like I promised."

"Nadine," Rafe smiled, "You look lovely as always. It's funny, I stayed at your place that whole time and not once did you come to visit me."

"Rafe," she smiled back sweetly, but Rafe could see the bitterness that she was trying to cover up, "If I'd had my way, I never would have seen you again."

"And we both would have been happy for that," Rafe nodded and held out a hand to Victor. Well, _two_ hands- handcuffs only allowed so much distance between them. "Sully. I understand that I have you to thank for this… arrangement." He cocked his head and ground the last word out, but kept his polite smile on.

"Not just me," Sully commented, shaking his hand. Most of his attention was focused on looking Rafe over for any obvious signs of abuse. He couldn't see all of his skin, but nothing seemed to be wrong with the kid, aside from his expected attitude towards the whole thing. With how pissed off Nadine had been on the island he had been expecting a lot worse, and he was glad that that wasn't the case.

Rafe was a bit of an asshole, sure, but Sully had seen others become obsessed with something to the point where they went over the edge. Two prime examples came to mind right away; the fanatical gene ran very strongly in the Drake family. He didn't think the kid was inherently bad, just a bit… misled, which was understandable. Sully knew his parents, and while they were charming, they were also very unpleasant people. He couldn't imagine being raised by them. But, hey, lots of people had crappy childhoods. Normally he couldn't be bothered to give a rats ass about something like that, except that Sam had put himself out on a limb for this, and then Nate had thrown in those damn puppy eyes, and he found himself advocating for Rafe's life. That was the only reason he was here, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to do it right.

He looked past Rafe at the guards. "You can uncuff him, you know."

"No," Nadine spoke up. "We'll give you the keys once we've unloaded everything, and you can do that yourself when we're long gone from here."

"Well, it was a nice thought anyway." Rafe turned away from Victor towards the third party on the dock. He plastered his biggest, most charming grin on his face. The other man immediately stiffened up and looked like he was rehearsing a speech in his mind. "Samuel Drake." In one swift, practiced motion, Rafe drew his fists up and swung them at Sam's face. They connected where his cheekbone met his nose, and Sam stumbled backwards, his cigarette flying from his mouth.

There were a dozen guns aimed at Rafe's head in an instant. He chose to ignore them. "Man, was _that_ satisfying," he smirked, "I can't tell you how long I've been wanting to do that."

"Already, Rafe?" Sully looked at him with exasperation. He wasn't making it easier to keep him alive. " _Don't. Move_. Sam, you ok?"

"I'm fine," Sam answered unconvincingly after he regained his balance. He ran his fingers over the spot where he was hit, and when he drew them back there was blood. He closed his eyes and sighed. Why was he here, again? They had been expecting a backlash of sorts when they first planned this and he had tried to convince Victor that it'd be better if he stayed in the house, but the other man had disagreed. He had said that it was better to get it over with when there were others there to restrain Rafe if necessary- and maybe that was true. "You can put your guns away," he called out, "I can handle it."

Rafe's eyes flashed. "If you were smart you'd let them handle it. I told you what I'd do to you and your brother if I got free. Oh, and for the record," he leaned in closer, "You won't be able to embarrass me the same way twice. That trick at the bay? Won't work now."

Sam drew himself up to his full height and fixed Rafe with a look. He didn't realize it, but it was the exact same look he gave Nathan when he was acting up when they were younger. He was sorely tempted to take Rafe up on that remark. "I wasn't planning on it," he said calmly, "Just keep quiet and let the adults talk, alright? None of us want this to drag on any longer than it has to." When he was sure that Rafe's temper had passed, he reached in his back pocket for a handkerchief and held it against his face. "Nadine, you want to get your men busy?"

"Pardon me for not wanting to leave you alone with him," Nadine rolled her eyes, then nodded towards her soldiers. "Start unloading and bring everything to the house. Victor will show you where to put it."

* * *

The unloading process took the better part of an hour. The whole time Rafe stood silently with his guards, pointedly ignoring Samuel, who for some reason had decided to stay behind with them as well. He didn't move or open his mouth again, and he told himself that it was because it would help nothing at this point and not because he was afraid of what would happen if he did. He may have _said_ he wouldn't be embarrassed like that again, but he was pretty sure that it would be worse a second time.

Once the process was over Nadine ordered her men back on the ship and they were gone without a second glance. The three men were left standing alone on the dock.

Sully fished in his pocket and held up a key, looking at Rafe. "Before I unlock you, let me explain your situation. We are on an island, and it's not a big one with a lot of hiding places. There is no other land within swimming distance, and we have no boat. The only means of communication we have is a short wave radio locked on one channel, Nadine's. Her men will only answer if we give a specific code. Trying to overpower us or run away won't gain you anything. Do you understand?"

"I understand that that's what you want me to think, yes," Rafe smiled innocently and held his wrists out. "But why would I ever do a thing like that? Out of all the people here, I think I'm the only one who never ran away from his problems." What Sully didn't realize was that at this point, Rafe didn't need a long term plan of escape. He just needed the chance to get some revenge. But, for his revenge to be complete, he needed one more person to be here, so it would just have to wait for the other Drake to show up.

"Yeah, and you're also the only one who's here against his will," Sam spoke up with annoyance in his voice. "Just promise to behave." He had smoked his way through several more cigarettes at this point, and his face had just stopped bleeding. Right now he only wanted to fix it up and maybe have a beer. Or three. And smoke another pack, just to make it to nightfall. Sully thought today was going to be the hardest, but Sam would put money on tomorrow when Rafe learned exactly how things were going to be in this house, so he wanted to be well-recovered by then.

Rafe cocked his head to the side. "Did I hear something?"

"Really?" Sam scoffed. "The silent treatment? How old are you?"

"Boys, be civil." Sully unlocked Rafe's cuffs and tossed them off the dock, along with the key. He might regret not having them, but he was sure he didn't want something like that in the house where Rafe could get to it. "Let's get inside so you can see the house they set us up with. You look like you could do with a shower and a shave too."

"You have no idea," Rafe rubbed his wrists.

* * *

Forty minutes later Rafe was looking at himself in the mirror, feeling much cleaner. He had washed himself off and just finished shaving. The clothes they'd left for him were… Well, they looked like they'd be more comfortable than he ones he'd had in Nadine's prison, anyway. They weren't his first choice and they probably wouldn't fit well, but they were enough.

He felt naked without a weapon, or at least _something_ he could use to protect himself, so he was trying to prise the razor from its plastic handle when there was a knock on the door.

"Rafe?"

It was Sully. "What do you want?" he called back, tossing the razor into the sink.

"Come to the kitchen when you're done in there and tell Sam what you want to eat. He's ready to start dinner."

In other words, he was spending too much time in there and they wanted to make sure he wasn't up to something. "If Samuel's the one cooking then I don't want any of it." He got the weird visual of Sam in an apron and pushed it out of his mind immediately, shuddering.

"Well if you don't give him a suggestion, you're stuck with whatever he feels like making."

Rafe rolled his eyes. No, he couldn't trust his tastes. "Do you have salad or anything like that?"

"Salad?" He could hear Sully's indignance in his voice. "What the hell kind of dinner is that?"

Rafe closed his eyes and groaned to himself, letting his head sink down. "I'll be out in a minute."

* * *

After he opened the fridge and spoke his food preferences loudly to no one in particular, Rafe spent most of the evening 'getting settled' in his room. The first few hours were used up by searching every nook and cranny. If he was going to live here then he wanted to know his full situation, and there was always the chance that they had overlooked something. Plus, he wanted to know if there was anything weird like cameras or mics hidden anywhere.

No such luck, but at least he knew which drawer had his underwear in it.

He didn't have a lot of his own things with him, but he had plenty of things that were there for his use. Clothes that, like the ones he had slipped on after his shower, were cheap but comfortable enough. They weren't what he was used to but they kept him covered. At least they weren't prison clothes or, god forbid, _children's_ clothes. He hadn't learned the exact deal Sully had made with Nadine in regards to his continued existence, but there were plenty of rumors circulating around her crew. Very disturbing rumors. He knew Sam well enough and had heard things about Sully that made him dismiss what the soldiers told him, but it was still a relief that he hadn't found any evidence to prove them right.

The rest of his evening was spent resting on his bed, turning the situation over in his mind. He'd had months to make guesses, but now that he was actually here he could consider the facts. Admittedly, this bed was much comfier than the ones he'd had the past month. He could get used to this house, if a certain _someone_ wasn't staying under the same roof. It'd be a good place to lay low for a while. He'd already placed an employee he trusted in charge of his business before he even got Sam out of jail, so he knew he didn't have to worry about it. Well, _trust_ was a strong word. He just knew that this woman would make smart business decisions, as she had proven plenty of times before, and he knew she wouldn't double cross him because he had too much dirt on her that he wasn't afraid to use.

Dinner came and went. He sat at the table with them and stared down at his salad as he ate. He only gave single word replies to any conversation Sully tried to start, and he refused to acknowledge Samuel at all. He _did_ glance at him once, and saw that he had patched up the cut he'd given him earlier, and there was a bruise forming in the tissue around it. Good. If Sam patched it, then it was more than a simple cut, and that meant whatever risk he took earlier was worth it.

They didn't seem to be planning anything in retaliation, which made Rafe suspicious, but if they were trying to lure him into a false sense of security they had another thing coming. Rafe Adler did not let his guard down, ever. The only reason he had been captured in the first place was because he was overwhelmed, _not_ because they caught him with his pants down.

At ten Sully knocked on his door again. "Can I come in?"

"Well, it is your house," Rafe replied, keeping his eyes on the wall.

The door opened and Sully appeared in the entrance. "I just wanted to let you know that you're going to be locked in here at night and the door won't be opened again until seven in the morning, so if you need to use the bathroom then you should use it now."

Rafe flicked his gaze at the older man. "Tell me again why this is better than prison?"

"Because here you won't be able to bribe the guards," Sully answered, then smirked, "You're also less likely to be killed in your sleep. Do you need to go or are you good?"

Rafe thought about telling Sully he was fine to get rid of him, but he had just been in a place where the toilet was in his room for the past few months and he'd gotten too used to using it whenever he needed to. His bladder might not forgive him if he made it wait until the morning.

"I'll use it," he sighed, pushing himself off the bed. "Just don't hover at the door."

"Yeah, sure, like I wanted to hear whatever you're doing in there."

* * *

Rafe started awake when he heard a key turning in the lock on his door. It stayed closed, and footsteps moved along down the hallway. He glanced at his clock; 7:00 am _exactly_.

Damn it, when had he fallen asleep? He had planned to stay awake all night, to learn the sounds of the house when no one was up and about, and to hear what anybody had done if they stirred. He had to know this place like the back of his hand if he ever wanted to take advantage of it.

It was the damn bed's fault. If the stupid thing wasn't so comfortable then he wouldn't have succumbed to sleep. They probably planned it that way, making sure he _had_ to sleep every night so-

No. He took a deep breath and let the waking rational part of his mind take over. No, they weren't smart enough to do something like that. The reason the bed was so comfortable was because they wanted him to think they were his friends, not his enemies. It was basic psychological warfare, and he wasn't going to fall for it. If he wanted to stay awake all night then he'd have to sleep on the floor. It'd be good for him anyway; it was obvious his body was in need of some re-training.

He pushed back his bed covers and opened a drawer to find something to wear. If his door was unlocked, he assumed he was allowed to go and get himself something to eat.

Five minutes later he was walking down the hallway towards the kitchen. He could hear something sizzling in a pan, and he could smell… Ugh. _Bacon_. The thought of eating it was enough to make his stomach churn.

"Oh, you're up." Sam was a bit surprised to see their 'prisoner' walking around so early. He would have thought Rafe'd hole himself up in his room again until someone told him he had to come and eat. Sully wasn't even up yet- hopefully that wasn't going to be a problem. His nose was still aching from the blow Rafe had given him yesterday; he had to admit the kid had a good back-swing.

What amazed him was that he didn't resent Rafe at all for hitting him. There wasn't a trace of anger or apprehension. At first he thought it might be shock, or maybe it was because he had been expecting _something_ to happen, but after a night's sleep the feeling still wasn't there. He supposed that he couldn't really blame Rafe for it, considering some of the things that happened to him, so he wasn't going to get angry either.

That didn't mean Sully wasn't planning on saying anything about it, though.

He grabbed a plate of scrambled eggs and put it on the table. He could easily make himself some more. "I've got bacon and sausage on the way too, they'll just take another minute."

Rafe looked at the plate, pushed it across the table, and walked to the fridge. Good thing there was absolutely _no one_ in the kitchen. That meant he could eat his breakfast in peace and silence.

He rummaged about and finally found an orange that looked ripe enough. He shut the door and looked around the kitchen. There were napkins on the table. Perfect. Even better, there were bananas on the counter. He grabbed one of those on the way to the table and sat down without a word.

Sam watched him with a raised brow, then rolled his eyes when he realized what was going on. "You're still doing that? Really? You know, you're going to have to talk to me at some point."

The only sound was an orange being peeled.

"Fine, have it your way. You should eat something a bit more than fruit, though. I promise I didn't poison the eggs."

Rafe paused and looked at the plate again. Slowly, deliberately, he reached over and pushed it completely off the table. It hit the floor and bounced once, then cracked into three pieces, sending scrambled eggs and porcelain in all directions.

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, mentally counting to ten. His palm was getting very, _very_ itchy. "Ok, _you're_ cleaning that up."

He turned his attention back to the frying pan and channeled his annoyance into turning the meats. If Rafe didn't want to talk, that was fine with him. He was sure he'd be hearing plenty of noise from the kid when Victor went over the rules later.

"Did I hear a crash?"

Speak of the devil. Victor must have jumped out of bed when he heard the noise. He had a robe thrown on over his t-shirt and pajama pants, and his hair was still mussed. Sam had never seen him awake so early.

"Yeah," he nodded towards the mess, "Apparently I have a food critic."

Sully looked down on the floor and nodded in understanding. "I see. Good morning, Rafe. What's wrong, you don't like scrambled eggs?"

"Morning, Sully," Rafe responded pleasantly, as if there was nothing unusual about eggs on the floor. "No, I don't like anything that's been fried in butter. Do you know how bad that is for you?"

Sully raised a brow, unsure if he was telling the truth or choosing to be difficult. "Alright. I take it that means bacon's out of the question too?"

Rafe scrunched his nose and picked some pith off a slice. "You think I'd put something dripping in grease and fat and who knows what else in my mouth? No thank you."

"What _do_ you like, then?"

Rafe gestured to his half eaten orange, and the untouched banana beside it. "I have what I like."

"That's not going to be enough," Sully frowned. "We have pancake mix-"

"Too many carbs."

"-or French toast-"

"What did I just say?"

"Cereal?"

"Are you even listening to me?" Rafe rolled his eyes and popped an orange piece in his mouth. "Carbs are a one-meal-a-day type thing, and the best time to have them is during dinner."

"I guess that rules out bagels," Sully sighed and took a seat at the table. If Rafe _was_ just doing this to be difficult, he had a very bad feeling about the rest of the year. However, he didn't think it was just for show. Rafe was a young billionaire, and that health crap _was_ the fad these days. "Well, what about oatmeal?"

Rafe considered it. "Do you have any that isn't pre-packaged?" He didn't need those preservatives in his system.

"I don't think so, but we can check the pantry," Sully offered.

"Then no. Fruit is fine."

"We have almonds," Sam spoke up, "They have protein, at least. And I can hard-boil some eggs if you don't want them fried. We have other options."

Rafe stared at Sully for a full ten seconds. "Do you have anything like almonds? Or I'd accept hard-boiled eggs."

Sam rolled his eyes and walked to the pantry. Normally it would be locked, but since he had been cooking it was already open. "Victor, ask the prince if he'd like something to drink. We have orange juice, milk, water, coffee, or tea."

Sully looked at Rafe. "I'm not repeating that."

"I'll take coffee, black."

"Good. Later you and I can look at our stock and make a list of things you want in our next provisions drop-off, if you want."

Rafe nodded and spit out an orange seed. "Good idea. I have a feeling it'll be a long one."

* * *

After breakfast was over Sully stood from the table and beckoned Rafe to follow him. The plate and eggs still lay where they fell, and no one made a move to touch them.

They wound up in a living room that branched off from the kitchen. Rafe had only caught glimpses of it the day before when he first walked into the house. Sully had offered a tour of the place and Rafe had declined. He had wanted his shower and to get away from everyone else. It's not like the house was very big anyway.

There were two couches arranged perpendicular to each other, facing away from the kitchen, so that one of them jutted out into the room. Across from this couch was a La-Z-Boy chair, which must have been for Sully, and there was a coffee table in the center of the three. One wall was lined with shelves that were filled entirely with books. Next to that was a desk, though as to its function Rafe had no clue. There was no computer sitting on top of it, nor was there a phone, or anything else for that matter. He guessed that maybe there were some documents locked away in those drawers, but he doubted he'd get any access to them so he'd never know for sure.

One thing that was starkly unusual was the lack of a television. What kind of living room didn't have a TV in it? _Especially_ in a house on an island which was sure to have very little entertainment. Rafe felt like he was getting involved in a cult.

"Sit down," Sully gestured to one of the couches. "We need to talk."

"I'm good standing," Rafe commented, crossing his arms.

"You're not going to like what I have to say," Sully said conversationally, "I suggest you take a seat. It'll make it easier."

Rafe considered this, nodded, and perched himself on one of the cushions as if it was his idea. Sully humored him and settled down beside him.

Sam quietly entered the room and stood around the side of the couch. Rafe never turned his head to acknowledge his presence, but from the way his jaw set he was pretty sure that he was aware of it. He _knew_ Rafe was going to hate this, and he expected a full-blown reaction from the kid. He wanted to be there in case Victor needed help containing him.

Sully cleared his throat, thinking about how he should start. He had been practicing this in his head for the past few weeks, but he still hadn't come up with a way that _wouldn't_ piss Rafe off. "We made a deal with Nadine. That much you know." Rafe just kept watching him silently, so he continued. "The exact deal we made was that if the three of us can live together for a year and we still think you're worth saving, she will agree to forget that anything happened, and you'll be free to go back to your life. She seems to think that since she couldn't make it four months into a partnership with you then we won't last much longer _living_ with you."

Rafe scoffed. "Oh boy. And you actually believed her? What's to stop her from changing the deal after a year is up? Or before a year is up? Assuming, of course, that she doesn't just abandon us all here to slowly starve to death. I mean, really, if what you've said about our limited connection is true then she's our life line, and she wouldn't have second thoughts about severing us off. Look at what she did to me."

This. _This_ is why he didn't work with old men. They trusted everyone, _especially_ women.

"I'm not that naïve," Sully responded, "I did put safeguards in there. But to answer your question, yes, I do trust her. She thinks in business deals, the same way you do. She doesn't double-cross people for no reason. It takes something extreme to get her to break a deal- and you have to admit, 'extreme' is an understatement to how you were acting at the end."

"Right." Rafe re-crossed his arms and sat back. "And what happens if you two don't make it a full year? I die?"

"Don't worry about that, we're going to make sure we can make it. And that brings me to the part you're going to hate."

"You mean you don't think I hate this already?" Rafe scoffed.

"Stop interrupting and let me get this out," Sully said, then braced himself. "The way Sam and I will treat you depends entirely on how you choose to behave. You won't be allowed to be an unbearable ass to make us miserable."

Rafe raised a brow and stared, waiting for an elaboration.

"You're expected to help with the housework, for one. You're also going to respect the property, so no more of _that_ ," Sully gestured towards the kitchen, "You _will_ be cleaning that mess up. And, lastly, you don't have to _like_ Sam or me but you _do_ have to treat us as equals. We aren't here to be your slaves or your punching bags. No more lashing out, no patronizing, and no more ignoring anyone. You can't just shut us out for the entire year. Understand?"

Rafe didn't flinch throughout the speech, but Sully swore he felt the room get colder.

"And what," Rafe asked quietly, a hint of danger in his tone, "Will happen if I _don't_ do all that bullshit?"

Sully sat up straight. "Then you won't be treated as an equal in this house. You'll find yourself with limited privileges- not being allowed any alcohol, for example, or a continued curfew of being locked in your room at ten. And you'll be punished when you disobey. It'll be along the lines of what happened on the beach, but would you like me to go into detail?"

Rafe slowly nodded as he processed this. "I see. And that's why you need Samuel here, is that it? He's your muscle in case I do something you don't like?"

"Sam is here because he's the one who dragged your sorry ass out of that ship," Sully responded, "And Nadine seems to think that makes you his responsibility. I'm here as a mediator to make sure you two don't kill each other. Don't think that just because I haven't yet, I can't take you over my knee myself if I have to."

He expected death threats, or shouting, or flat out denial of the whole idea. What he didn't expect was for Rafe to start laughing.

"You." Rafe stood up and looked down at Sully. " _You're_ gonna _spank_ me? Sure, just try not to break a hip when you do, old man."

"Thanks for your concern," Sully smirked wryly. "If you don't have any questions then you can go ahead and clean up that mess you made right now."

Rafe shook his head and walked towards Sam. "So let me get this straight," he said, keeping his eyes on Sully. "You think that I'm going to let you do that to me whenever you feel like I've disrespected you."

He paused in front of Sam, and the older man braced himself, expecting another one of Rafe's outbursts. His cheekbone began aching again, almost as a reminder. Instead, Rafe turned and began walking the other way. Alright, so he was pacing; that was fine for now. He probably needed time to work through this.

"So that means if I don't feel like playing housemaid, for example, or if I just _speak_ to you the wrong way…" He continued pacing back and forth, stopping right in front of Sam, turning, and walking again to stand in front of Sully. "…Hell, even if I call you out to be the bastard that you are, or if I just state the fact that _he's_ an asshole…" He gestured sideways, still not looking at the older Drake. He made his way back over to Sam and looked at Sully straight on. "You want to spank me for it?"

"One of us will, yes," Sully confirmed, keeping a wary eye on him.

"Well, I can't _imagine_ what you would do if I did something like _this_." With that, Rafe drove an elbow back, slamming it just below Sam's rib cage.

Sam was dropped in an instant, all the air rushing from his lungs. Rafe turned and looked down at him, drinking in the sight. He lifted one leg back and lined his foot up with the man's head.

Before the kick had a chance to connect, he was grabbed around his chest and yanked backwards. Sully reached up from under his arms and hooked his hands behind Rafe's head, trapping his arms so he couldn't break free. "When a former sailor tells you that he'll have no trouble holding you down, you should believe him," he advised. "Now calm down, or do I need to put you in the corner until you do?"

As soon as he realized that struggling would get him nowhere, Rafe went limp and held his hands out as straight as he could as a sign of surrender. "Alright, you got me, Sully. But if Samuel didn't see that coming then you can hardly blame it on me."

Sully shook his head. "That's not how it works. Here's what's going to happen: I'm going to let you go, and you're going to walk to your room and leave your door open. You're going to sit on your bed and wait for me. And if you try hitting anyone or anything on your way there, I'll just decide to spank you out here in the living room. Do you understand me?"

"I understand your instructions," Rafe answered, keeping his voice steady.

"Good." Sully slowly released him, keeping himself alert.

Rafe straightened his shirt and didn't look down as he stepped around Sam and made his way down to his room. He ran his fingers through his hair, thinking over his new predicament in his mind. Sully spanking him- no, he didn't even want to use that word in his thoughts. Sully _hitting_ him would be embarrassing, but it would be worse if he resisted and made Sam feel like he had to step in. Like it or not, he hadn't been able to work out for a while and he wasn't in good enough shape to take both of them on, especially without a weapon. It would be easier to let Sully slap him once or twice than to resist, at least for now.

Sully watched him until he was out of sight, then offered a hand to Sam. "You alright?" That looked like it had hurt quite a bit, and though Sam could take a lot of hits without complaint, Sully was still worried. He knew Sam wasn't like his little brother, who could whine for hours over minor scrapes and bruises, but he also knew that both Drakes tended to hide the bigger things like broken bones if they thought the timing was inconvenient.

"That asshole got me on one of my bullet scars," Sam grumbled and took his hand, "But yeah, I'll live. He's right, I should have been expecting that. Especially after the job he did on my face."

Sully helped him to his feet. "And he should have taken the better path and handled that like an adult. Why don't you go outside and have a cigarette? You'll feel better."

Sam knew a dismissal when he heard one. "Sure. I'll take a walk and check the lobster traps while I'm at it. You sure you'll be alright by yourself?"

"You kidding? He's a feather," Sully had to smirk, "And he's not taking this seriously yet, so I doubt he'll fight me until it's too late. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

Sam nodded. "Right. Good luck." He went to the front door and slipped on a pair of shoes, then went outside. His lungs hurt now, and only a full pack of cigarettes would help them feel better.

Sully steeled himself and began walking towards Rafe's room. He wasn't going to enjoy this at all, but he'd had a feeling that he'd end up having to spank him eventually, and he wasn't surprised that it happened so soon. It was better for his sanity that Rafe decided to dive right in than if he had spent the first few months toeing the water and arguing that he wasn't wet anyway.

The door was open when he got there, like he instructed, and without hesitation he stepped inside.


	2. Chapter Two

Rafe was sitting on his bed when Sully entered, looking for all the world like he was just waiting for a business meeting to get started and _not_ waiting for his butt to get beat. It had taken a few minutes to school his expression into something so neutral, but he was satisfied at the end result. Sully had to know that he didn't consider children's punishments a threat, and that he didn't feel bad in the slightest for hitting Samuel. Sully could take his rules and use them as a suppository, for all he cared.

"You know," Rafe cocked his head to the side and looked at the older man. "Just sitting here with nothing to do, waiting for the guards to come by and 'assert their authority'- the only thing that would make this more of a jail cliché is if I had a baseball to bounce against the wall."

Sully was in no mood for a verbal fencing match. "You had a choice and this is what you decided," he said simply, going to sit on the bed beside him. "It's not what I wanted, but it is what it is."

Rafe eyed him, not making a move. No, it hadn't been much of a choice. He wasn't going to let them blackmail him into being a servant, and he definitely wasn't going to spend twelve months kissing ass. The game was rigged against him, and he didn't believe for a second that Sully didn't want it that way. "Was that a 'no' to the baseball?"

"I might trust you with a tennis ball," Sully couldn't help but smirk. "Let's just get this over with, alright? Come here."

Rafe shook his head. "If I remember correctly, you said that you were going to take me over your knee, not that I was going to just dive on your lap." There was no way that Sully was strong enough to do it, not without exhausting himself, and Rafe had heard Sam leaving the house so he knew he didn't have backup. He wanted to make sure the old man knew that he had no control over him, and once he felt like that point was made, _then_ he'd humor him.

Sully looked Rafe over. He was still relaxed as if this was an office disagreement, and he had a smug look on his face. He'd been expecting anger, or embarrassment, or _some_ kind of fight… Just not _this_. For a brief moment he reconsidered the tactics he had planned out around Rafe, but he pushed back the doubts. No, he _knew_ Rafe wasn't going to _enjoy_ this. He was there at the beach along with everyone else and he had seen the kid's reaction, it definitely wasn't pleasure.

He would have thought being dragged across a lap was more humiliating than going willingly, and Rafe wasn't stupid enough to think he'd just give up and not punish him if he resisted. Unless, of course, this was just a display of false bravado. "You're really going to make me do that?" he asked with a raised brow.

"Are you really going to spank me?" Rafe retorted, raising a brow of his own. "I'm not five, Sully."

"No, you're not," Sully agreed, reaching over to grab his upper arm, "But your actual age doesn't really matter when you still act like a brat. And, like I said before, you're the one who decided you wanted to be spanked."

He pulled, but Rafe resisted, planting his feet and hands against the bed and locking his muscles. No matter, Sully had plenty of experience with a certain other brat who liked to try the same strategy before eventually learning it was much better to just accept it. He used his free hand to grab Rafe's ear and give it a slight twist. Rafe immediately yelped and tried to push that hand away, and that gave Sully all the leverage he needed. Within seconds the kid was over his lap, and before he could struggle again Sully pinned one of his hands behind his back to keep him in place.

Rafe found himself on his stomach staring down at his blanket. Well, that was unexpected. He tried to push himself up with his free hand but Sully had too much of an advantage on him. He stopped trying and went limp. "For the record, I didn't decide that I wanted to be spanked. I decided that I didn't want you telling me what to do." There was a sudden flash of pain across his backside, accompanied by a muffled clap, and he couldn't suppress a gasp at how hard the old man could hit. This might not be as easy as he first thought…

"Say it however you want to, it amounts to the same thing." Sully adjusted Rafe a little to give himself a better target, then swatted him again. Rafe didn't make a sound this time, but he felt him flinch under his hand. It was a good start, at least.

Rafe grit his teeth and focused all of his will-power on not reacting. The stiller and more quiet that he stayed, the sooner Sully would see how ridiculous this was. "So, did Samuel let you practice on him those months before I got here, or what?" That was something he would _gladly_ pay to see.

"Hurts more than you expected, hm?" Sully began alternating sides, first swatting one cheek then the other. He knew that for this to be an effective means to curb Rafe's behavior in the future then he'd have to make sure it left an impression now. He also knew that the kid's stubbornness and pride would mean that, in order to do that, it would unfortunately be a very long time before he was finished. Despite what Rafe may think, he didn't want to damage him, so he was making sure to distribute the pain as evenly as possible. "No, I didn't need him for practice. We had someone else who gave us a lifetime of experience with this."

Rafe shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like how quickly the heat was building in his bottom; it was getting harder to ignore. "You mean Nathan?" he asked. He'd known that Sam used to do that, but Sully too? Well, he guessed he shouldn't be too surprised. If they'd both treated Nate that way, then maybe it wasn't the big leap in logic that he thought it was for them to be doing it to him now. It was still a stupid leap, though, and he was certain that they were getting some enjoyment out of it. He wasn't a family member; he was an 'enemy' who 'plagued' them on an adventure.

"Yes, Nathan," Sully confirmed. He figured that Rafe was talking to distract himself from the punishment, so he decided to put an end to it. "But that's enough about that. If you want to speak, then you can tell me about why you're getting punished and how you plan to avoid it in the future- and maybe about apologizing to Sam." Yeah right, that was a stretch. "Otherwise, keep quiet and learn your lesson."

"Yeah, fuck you," was Rafe's immediate response.

Sully stilled his hand for a moment and placed it on the small of Rafe's back. His palm was already protesting, and he knew that it would be screaming at him by the time this was over. He almost wished he brought the wooden spoon in with him- _almost_. But he knew that for the first time, he needed to prove to Rafe that he could bring him to tears without any help.

"Alright, Rafe," he said, keeping his voice calm but firm, "This will be your first and _only_ warning, and I mean for this and any future spankings you might have, so listen up. You can curse as much as you need to to get through it, but keep it general. If you aim _any_ insults my way when you're across my lap then you lose your pants. Do it again and you lose your underwear, if you have any on. Do you understand me?"

Rafe's whole body stiffened with indignation, and his face turned red. A retort immediately jumped to his tongue but he had to bite it back. He _would not_ give Sully that satisfaction. He wasn't sure he'd be able to survive the humiliation. Not trusting his mouth, he nodded his head the fraction of an inch.

"Good." Sully raised his hand again and smacked the back of one of his thighs.

Rafe kicked involuntarily, then cursed and tensed to keep it from happening again. He wasn't _about_ to let Sully win this. He'd been through _much_ worse than getting his ass beat by an old man; he could handle this.

Sully continued to lay into his thighs, much to Rafe's dismay. He closed his eyes and bunched his blanket up in a fist, squeezing it as hard as he could. He needed _something_ to take his mind off the pain in his backside, but the blanket couldn't hold his concentration for long.

Minutes seemed to pass, and he stubbornly kept quiet. He wondered just how long Sully was planning on spanking him, and whether or not the old man's hand or his ass was going to break first. That seemed like the only logical conclusion at this point.

Soon he wasn't able to think about anything _but_ the throbbing pain in his backside. A few years ago, when he had been researching the St. Dismas Cathedral, he'd come across a medieval torture method where a man was chained to an iron chair and a fire was lit beneath it, slowly heating and then roasting the victim's flesh. He imagined that this was pretty close to what that felt like.

It became too much for his body to handle, and no amount of willpower in the world could keep it from trying to squirm away from the pain, and tears were threatening to well up and spill from his eyes. _Great_. Nathan betrayed him, Samuel betrayed him, Nadine betrayed him, and now his own fucking body was betraying him. Couldn't _anything_ do what he asked?

Rafe took a deep, shuddering breath. Well, he had humored Sully long enough. It was time to get out of this mess before he embarrassed himself by crying. He gathered all of his strength and pushed off the bed, rolling against Sully. He hoped to knock him off balance just enough that he could get his hand free and _really_ fight to get off his lap.

Sully fought to stay upright at the sudden shove and he instinctively tightened his grip on Rafe's hand, pushing it against the small of his back to keep him down. Rafe had just gone from a sulking dog to an angry cat that was tossed into a bathtub full of water, and he had to contain it fast.

He pulled Rafe's wrist towards him, anchoring him at his waist, and swept Rafe's legs off the bed, pinning them between his own legs. He had to pull Rafe higher up on his lap to be able to reach his bottom, draping most of his upper body onto the bed. Once the kid was settled in the new position he had a lot less freedom to move.

Rafe let out a very frustrated huff and tried to twist his body, but there wasn't much wriggle room. Great. Now he was in a worse spot than he had been before.

"Are you finally going to accept that this is happening to you?" Sully asked, accompanying the question with a hard smack against a sit-spot.

Rafe winced and couldn't hold back a pained groan. "Is it too late to make a deal?" His voice was thick to his own ears. His tears wouldn't be held back much longer, and he was getting desperate.

Sully rested his hand on Rafe's bottom, as a reminder that he was still in charge. "Are you going to apologize to Sam?"

"We both know that's not going to fucking happen," Rafe answered.

"That's the only deal I'll be willing to make," Sully commented, lifting his hand again. He expected Rafe to protest, or make a counter-offer, but the kid just took a deep breath and nodded, then turned his head and buried his face into the crook of his arm.

"Alright, go ahead," Rafe said, voice muffled. He might not be able to stop his stupid body from crying, but he'd be damned if he'd let Sully see it.

Sully couldn't help but admire his resolve. Rafe may be a dick, but no one could say that he gave up easily. If Rafe wasn't the type to manipulate others and seek revenge, Sully would have happily ended it right there. Unfortunately, he had to make it clear who was in charge right now, before any real trouble happened in the future, and to do that he had to break that resolve.

That didn't mean he couldn't offer a little mercy.

"If I let your hand go, do you promise to try not to push me away or get off my lap like that again?" he asked gently.

Rafe scoffed, despite himself. "You really trust my word right now?"

"Against my better judgement, yes," Sully answered. "You have a reputation for keeping it. Besides, you're smart. You know you have nowhere else to go except back over my lap, and it will definitely be worse the second time."

Rafe remained quiet for a few moments while he thought about it. There was no harm in admitting he didn't want his arm twisted behind his back, he finally decided. "I won't try to get up, but I make no promises about instincts that I have no control over."

"Fair enough." Sully released his grip on his wrist and reached over to give his back a little rub for encouragement. Then he wrapped his arm around Rafe's waist and hugged it to his side to keep him in place. "Are you ready?"

Rafe tucked his now-free arm with the other one around his head, and he stiffened with indignation at the touch. He didn't need Sully's false sympathies- it was degrading! The brief break from the pain and the resentment he now felt were enough to strengthen his resolve. He was _not_ going to cry, and he was _not_ going to let Sully win. He'd show that old man that his willpower was much stronger between the two of them, and that trying stunts like this wasn't going to be worth his time. "Ready."

It was about time to get this punishment over with. Sully began to aim all of his smacks on Rafe's sit-spots, where he knew he would feel it the most, now and any time he tried to sit over the next few days.

Rafe hissed when the fire re-ignited almost immediately- it was like he hadn't even had a break at all. Sully was a lot more heartless than he expected.

His newfound determination didn't last two minutes under the assault when his body flat-out rebelled against him. His brain might be able to shut out the pain, but his body couldn't, and it was overwhelmed. He pressed his eyes against his arm to hold in the tears, but they forced their way out anyway. For the first time in _decades_ , Rafe Adler began to cry.

Sully heard the quiet sobs emanating from the kid over his lap. _Finally_. He wasn't going to embarrass Rafe by commenting on it, but he knew that it meant they were reaching the end. This was the longest spanking he'd had to give in his life; his arm was aching and his palm wasn't going to forgive him for how much it hurt. If every punishment with Rafe was like this then he was going to have to invest in a good glove, or _some_ kind of protection.

Rafe's body began to squirm and kick. He tried everything he could to keep it under control, including tensing every muscle in his body to keep it locked in place, but that didn't even last ten seconds before he shuddered and collapsed, then resumed writhing. He could feel exhaustion settling in, and briefly he wondered how he allowed himself to get so out of shape and to lose this much self-control. He had a _lot_ of training to put himself through.

Then, after one last struggle, his body just gave out on its own and he lay still over Sully's lap. Rafe groaned loudly through his tears. It was worse than he'd thought- staying still because he'd told it to was one thing, but giving up and being unable to move was a disaster. _Fuck_.

Sully gave him just a few more strikes to each cheek to wrap it up. He was exhausted, the kid was exhausted, and he was pretty sure that his punishment had made the impression it needed to. Rafe would have to think twice before choosing to end up here again.

He began to rub circles on Rafe's back to calm him, not saying anything. Even if he knew what to say to comfort him, he wasn't sure the kid would actually be able to hear him right now. He was crying pretty heavily.

Rafe didn't notice when the actual spanking ended. All he knew was that one moment he took a deep, shuddering breath and realized that the constant pain had ended. No, not ended- it was still _there_ , but it was no longer _increasing_. Now there was pressure against his back, and he didn't even have the energy left to tense with indignation. Fine, he'd put up with it, but he wouldn't enjoy it. Sully might have won this round, but he wasn't about to let that old man win him over with mind-games and fake compassion.

When Sully thought Rafe would be able to handle it, he gingerly helped him move off his lap and onto the bed, where he'd be a lot more comfortable. Then he resumed rubbing his back- partially because it felt good on his throbbing hand, but even if he had brought that spoon instead, he'd still do it. That had been a rough ordeal for Rafe, and he wanted to make sure he was okay.

The sobbing stopped almost as suddenly as it had begun; Rafe was beginning to take back control. Sully took that as a good sign. "I'm going to get you something to drink," he said quietly, "Do you want water, juice, or tea?"

Rafe took a deep breath. He wasn't sure if he was able to speak properly yet, but it seemed like Sully wasn't going to give him a choice. A drink would be good, though; his throat hurt almost as much as his ass did. _No_ , he amended, _not even close_. But it still hurt a lot. "Tea," he whispered hoarsely.

"Alright." Sully had the audacity to pat him on the back of the head. "I'll be right back."

Rafe heard him get up and walk to the kitchen, heard him bumbling around to get a teapot on. Every fiber of his being was telling him to reach back and rub the sting away, but that was one battle his pride was able to win. His butt could wait until he knew Sully was going to leave him alone and not catch him in the act. That was an embarrassment he'd _never_ recover from.

He heard Sully in the hallway again, and soon something cold was pressed against his hand. "Drink this for now until the water heats up."

Rafe grasped the cup blindly, then slowly turned on his side, keeping his back towards Sully. He didn't want him to see his face right now. When he had settled as comfortably as he could he finally lifted his head and allowed himself to drink.

He heard a drawer open and some ruffling, then something soft hit his side.

"I suggest you change into these when you're feeling up to moving. They'll be a lot easier on you than those jeans."

He craned his head a little to see a pair of sweatpants. Jesus, what was he? A college girl? He raised his arm to knock them off of him and onto the floor.

Sully chose to ignore it and he reached out to squeeze Rafe's shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked.

The son of a bitch actually sounded _concerned_ for him. "What do you think?" he responded. Now that he had some liquids, his voice sounded a lot better.

"I think you're probably pretty pissed and confused," Sully answered, "But you understand why you deserved that, don't you?"

"Sure," Rafe took another sip. "You needed to prove who was in charge, so you provoked me by giving me ridiculous rules that you knew I wouldn't follow, and then jumped on the first chance you could to assert your authority."

"Cute," Sully rolled his eyes. "No, that's not why. Those rules are there so we all get along. 'Help out with housework' and 'don't beat people up' are not unreasonable. _You_ just wanted to prove that we aren't as good as you, so _you_ jumped on the first opportunity to show that you didn't care what we said. I just want us to get through this year, and you're the one who decided that this is how you want to do it. So, I'll ask again. Do you understand why you deserved that?"

Rafe sighed heavily and let his head flop onto his pillow. "Yeah, Sully, I get it. I did the exact thing you told me not to do, and you did what you promised you would. We don't have to talk about it."

"I'm just trying to be fair." Sully turned his head when he heard the teapot whistling. "You take milk and sugar with your tea?"

"Milk, no sugar," Rafe responded tiredly.

Sully was gone again, and a few minutes later Rafe heard a mug being placed on his nightstand.

"I'll leave you alone now," Sully said, "I'm sure you have a lot to think about. Take all the time you need to recover, but I want that mess in the kitchen cleaned up before bedtime. Understand?"

 _Bedtime_. Rafe repeated the word in his mind bitterly. He wasn't even going to dignify that with a protest. Instead, he gave a slight nod, keeping his back to the door.

"Good."

He heard the door close, and he cautiously turned his head to make sure no one else was in his room. _Finally_. He set his glass of water aside and immediately began to rub the sting out. He could feel heat radiating out of the seat of his pants, even though he was wearing jeans. _Fuck._

* * *

 _*Author's Note*_

Thanks for all the kind reviews so far!

Jess: As of right now I have no plans for a stand-alone story with Sully and kid Nate, but when Nate shows up later in this one (sorry, it'll be a while) there's a good chance I'll have a few flashbacks with them~


	3. Chapter Three

***Authors Note***

 _Thanks to everyone who commented so far! Sorry that this one took so long to come out. It's a busy time of year at my workplace and I haven't had a lot of free time, but I'll try to keep updating regularly. Thanks for being patient with me, and I hope you enjoy it~  
_

* * *

Rafe rested on his side and sipped at his tea. The _first_ thing that he was going to put on that grocery list was a fucking decent brand that didn't taste like tepid water. He'd briefly considered opening his door and dumping the 'peace offering' out in the hallway, but that required too much energy. He didn't really feel like moving. Besides, it was something warm and soothing for his throat, which had to be sore from the second-hand smoke and _not_ because he'd been crying, and drinking it helped him focus.

That… That _unspeakable_ event had been worse than he was expecting. His ass was sore enough without any kind of pressure on it; if he tried even _laying_ on his back, his rear screamed at him. He was pretty sure that just walking would be a challenge at this point. His shirt was damp with sweat, and there was a deep exhaustion settled into his muscles. It felt like he'd been through a workout, except that this was more painful. He really needed a nice, cold shower, but he couldn't take one while Sam and Sully were still around. He wasn't going give them something else to laugh at.

Overall, though, it _still_ wasn't as bad as what happened to him on the beach. That memory had festered in his mind for the first month in Nadine's care, and he thought he had successfully buried it away until the time when it would be useful- when he could finally exact his revenge. Now, however, it had forced its way back out, and his aching body and wounded pride were holding him hostage to it.

Looking back, he really shouldn't have been surprised. Everything else had gone wrong that day, so why _wouldn't_ it end so badly? Sam had escaped thanks to Nadine's incompetent men, triggered a trap that set the whole ship on fire while they were inside it, and Nadine decided _that_ was a good time to betray him.

He had found himself trapped on a flaming pirate ship with the two people he hated most in the world, with all of his ambitions burning around him _._ There was no point in trying to escape. No one could blame him for going a _little_ crazy in that moment.

The only option he saw for himself was to kill the Drake's before the fire could; no one did to him what they did and lived to die a natural death. Sam, that _idiot_ , had somehow managed to pin himself under a beam in the explosion, so Rafe didn't have to worry about him causing any trouble. He'd kill his little brother in front of him, then, when Sam had time to process the grief, he'd kill him too. They deserved worse, but it was the best he could do in the circumstances.

He had chosen a sword for himself from the remains of Captain Avery and set off after Nathan. The younger Drake had cut him out of the discoveries of three ancient cities by leaving him all those years ago, but he _wasn't_ going to claim this one. This was Rafe's achievement alone, and he was prepared to fight for it, even if Nathan wasn't.

It was clear from the beginning that Nate wasn't as comfortable wielding a sword as he was with guns, whereas Rafe had been trained from a young age. Rafe had the superior skills and had soon outmatched him. Even when Nate kept fighting, coming back from what should have been the end, Rafe got him back on the ground. No one was yielding to him or pulling punches. It was a real fight, and he was still the superior. He pinned Nate one last time and disarmed him.

Then, when he was about to land the killing blow, everything went dark _._

 _When he started waking, there was a throbbing pain on the back of his head. He gradually became aware that he was surrounded by water, and then that someone had an arm around him and was dragging him… somewhere. It was hard to breathe and his senses were invaded by a thick, brackish taste, but he couldn't force his body to struggle for more air or clear whatever foul thing was blocking his throat. There were voices._

 _His body was hauled out of the sea and dumped on a hard surface with enough force to make him cough up water, bringing him back to full consciousness. He rolled and limply pushed himself to his knees. Before he could orient himself, a gun pressed against his head, and he heard a click as the safety switched off._

" _Hey, no, there's no need for that!" Nate's voice called out. He sounded exhausted, and desperate, but he was_ still _fighting. He didn't know when to give up; that was his problem._

" _What_ you _should have done," Nadine's voice came from behind him, the source of the weapon. "It's bad enough you two came back, but what were you thinking with bringing him out alive?"_

" _We couldn't just leave him back there; he would have burned to death. No one deserves that," Nate protested. Of_ course _he would play the hero card now, when there wasn't any risk involved. He didn't see him hesitating to kill earlier when he infiltrated the dig sites._

" _And then he wouldn't be a problem!" she responded. "I'm not going to give him the chance to turn into one."_

 _Rafe cleared his throat and found his voice. "She's right, leaving me would have been the smart thing to do. Then again, you two were never known for strategy." He carefully settled back on his haunches, making sure not to provoke any panicked reactions from the woman with a gun to his head. She was on edge, and while he knew he wasn't getting out of this alive, and he wasn't sure he even wanted to, he would do his best to screw the others over while he still could._

 _Now that he had caught his breath, he could take in his surroundings. They were on a dock at the beach- or half of one, the rest succumbing to rot and decay centuries ago- right at the entrance to Avery's cave. There were a few dozen soldiers around, most with guns aimed at him or the two drenched Drake's nearby. And, not far from Nadine, chomping on a cigar, was the infamous Victor Sullivan. He looked far more relaxed than he should have been in the given situation. Beside him was the two-bit reporter who had caused nearly as much trouble as her husband. She was the only one there showing an appropriate level of anxiety._

" _Well, we sure as hell outsmarted you back there," Nathan glanced at Rafe. "You know, you should be thanking us for saving your life- don't ruin that by talking too much now."_

 _Rafe simply smirked. An iron maiden wouldn't be able to squeeze any gratitude from him, not for anyone there on the docks._

" _Everyone calm down," Sam finally spoke up, having caught his breath. "Nadine, put your gun away. I didn't drag him through the water for you to kill him now. Let's just talk this out."_

 _Rafe's jaw set._ Sam _was the one who pulled him out, and now was trying to save him? Rafe was going to_ kill _him… Somehow._

 _There was a pause, and the gun slowly dropped from against his head. He heard a click that told him the safety was back on._

" _That," Rafe commented, reaching up to rub the spot where his head was throbbing, "Was an even bigger mistake than pulling your gun on me in the first place."_

" _Right, because I should be afraid of one half-drowned, unarmed_ rat _when I have my army to back me up," Nadine scoffed and walked around to face him. "And I do mean_ my _army. We've already weeded out the soldiers you bribed. No one here is going to die for you anymore."_

 _Rafe locked eyes with her. "Maybe you shouldn't be afraid of me now, but if I walk off this island then you'll have bigger things to worry about. You have no money left for your soldiers. How long do you think it would take for me to get enough men to wipe you out? Or how long before your soldiers resent you for bringing them on a wild goose chase and take care of you themselves? Hell, I'd_ pay _them to do that. The treasure is gone… Unless those two have something that they aren't sharing."_

" _Hey," Sam pointed a finger at him, "You need to either lighten up or shut up. You're not helping."_

" _And you," Rafe turned his eyes on the older man. "_ You _should be even_ more _worried about what I'm going to do to you and your goddamned brother once I get the chance, if Nadine doesn't beat me to it."_

" _Ok, be mad at me," Sam consented, "Some of that might have been my fault. But leave my brother out of this, he didn't do anything to you. He didn't even know anything this whole trip, you know that."_

" _He didn't have to," Rafe narrowed his eyes. "You can tell him that it's all because of you when you watch him die a slow and agonizing death, and this time you won't be able to help him."_

 _Sam glanced over at his brother. Rafe could see him singling out the cuts and bruises from his sword that now wept into Nate's shirt. His demeanor changed. He scowled and stepped closer to Rafe, looking tired and annoyed, and close to snapping. There was a well of pent up frustration just waiting to be tapped into. "Seriously, threaten me all you want, but_ don't _threaten Nathan. He's been through enough already."_

" _Why can't I?" Rafe cocked his head to the side curiously. "Like you said, you just hauled my ass through the ocean. What are you going to do,_ kill me _?"_

" _No," Sam slowly shook his head and knelt on one knee to get on Rafe's level. He spoke in an even, dangerous tone. "I won't kill you, but say another word about my brother and you won't like what I do. We're trying to help here, Rafe, don't be stupid."_

 _Nate let out a weak, nervous cough. "Sam, come on. Don't let him get to you. He isn't bothering me. If you're talking about what I_ think _you're talking about, which would be_ crazy _, this isn't exactly the place…"_

 _Rafe kept his focus on Sam, anger burning in his stomach. He braced himself. "I don't want your help, from either of you. Your brother won't be much use to me when he's dead anyway. They won't even be able to recognize him-_ if _they find his body."_

He had been prepared for a punch to the face, a kick in the groin, hands around his neck, maybe even a bullet or two. He hadn't been prepared for Sam to drop to both knees and grab his shoulder, then tuck him against his side. He _definitely_ wasn't ready for the barrage of attacks on his rear end. Although, thinking back, maybe he should have expected it. He'd seen that look on Sam's face before- it had just never been aimed at _him_.

That entire experience had been one of the most humiliating points in his life. He got _spanked_ , in front of an _army_ , in front of _everyone_ who betrayed him. On top of the pain, he had to face amused laughter and catcalls, among worse taunts, though the younger Drake looked like he was sharing the embarrassment. Nadine and Sullivan disappeared somewhere in the middle of it, before he lost the ability to focus on his surroundings. He hadn't cried, but a few drops of water _might_ have rolled down his cheek. He'd swear for the rest of his life that it was just water dripping from his still wet hair.

That assault hadn't been as long or as painful as the one he had just experienced from Sully, but it was worse because of the audience. When it was over, Sam just plopped him back on the deck and told him to shut up and behave, and, damn his overwhelmed self, he _did_. He was too tired to fight anymore, and he didn't want his death to be any less dignified than that act had already made it.

When Sully and Nadine returned, they called Sam over, talking about a deal they had come to terms on. Rafe was ushered away by soldiers onto a ship, and that was the last he had heard about it, until today. He wondered if Nadine and her men knew the extent of his treatment here, and if they were laughing at him right now. They _had_ to know. Nadine wouldn't agree to make the deal unless she knew he'd undergo some sort of pain or humiliation. Simply living for a year wouldn't be enough. She probably even came up with the rules just to provoke him into breaking them so that they could start enforcing them right away.

When Sully first started talking to him that morning, he thought he could survive getting spanked every day if he had to. Without anyone around to see it, he could endure the pain, based off of his experience with Sam. Now he was having second thoughts. If every spanking was like _this_ , he'd never make it. He needed time to think, and to come up with a plan.

Until that happened, he didn't want to give either of them a chance to put him through that again. For now, he had to play the game, while avoiding whatever bait they tossed out to get him into trouble. And _that_ meant cleaning up his mess and pretending like nothing ever happened.

But first he had to be able to stand.

* * *

Sully opened the front door to the porch and took a step outside, reaching in his pocket for a cigar as he did so. There was already a strong smell of smoke in the air, and he turned to see Sam leaning against the house with a cigarette.

"That took a while," Sam commented, offering his lighter. He had been standing outside for a good ten minutes after his walk, not wanting to interrupt anything by going back inside. Rafe would be mad enough without knowing that he was there to hear the end of it.

"No more than it had to," Sully replied, taking it. "I thought you were taking a stroll."

"I did," Sam kicked a water-filled cooler in response. Sully peered inside to see three lobsters roaming the bottom. Sam had chosen the best and set the rest of them free, then brought the traps back to the house. They didn't leave them out unless they were planning on eating them that night. "Does the prince even eat lobster?"

Sully smirked. "I'll ask him later. If he doesn't, I'll gladly take his share."

"Oh no you won't," Sam eyed him, "The cook gets first claim." He took a drag of his cigarette and held his breath for a moment, then slowly let it out. "Is he alright?"

Of course, he wouldn't be _completely_ ok, but Sully knew what he meant. He was pretty sure that as spoiled as Rafe was, his parents never put him through anything like that before, and it was a lot to take; more than people realized.

"I think so," Sully answered and puffed on his cigar to help the fire catch. "But it's hard to tell with him. He… didn't react like I was expecting. But it _did_ make an impression. We'll have to wait and see what he makes of it."

Sam nodded. Either way, this was how it would be for the coming year. They'd all have to get used to it. "Let's hope he comes to his senses and realizes how much better it'll be if he makes it easy on us. But, somehow, I doubt it."

"Yeah," Sully chuckled, "Me too. I don't think I've ever known anyone as stubborn as he is- and I've known you _and_ Nate at your worst."

"Very funny," Sam rolled his eyes and tossed his cigarette butt to the side. "We aren't _that_ bad." There was a difference between 'stubborn' and 'persevering'.

Sully arched an eyebrow and looked at him over his cigar.

"Well, _I'm_ not," Sam insisted, "I can't speak for Nathan for the past ten years."

"Right," Sully smirked. "If you say so. And that whole business of going back for Avery's treasure was…?"

"What was I supposed to do, let them have it? You're starting to sound like Nathan," Sam retorted. Then he stood straight and stretched his back. He'd already paid for that mishap, and he didn't want to talk about it anymore. "I'm going inside to clean up. Should I be worried about an ambush?"

"I doubt he has the energy for that right now," Sully answered, opening the door for him, "He was pretty drained when I left him. He's probably sleeping."

"Good," Sam stepped past him, "I don't think I could take another hit so nicely."

* * *

When Sully finished his cigar and went back inside, Sam had already showered and dressed and was starting on the dishes left over from breakfast. He was very particular about the kitchen; something Sully never would have guessed when he first met him. Then again, when they first met, Sam had been a paranoid teen fresh out of prison, and Sully hadn't seen much of how he kept his and Nate's home during the few times they had one. It was only several years later when Sam had developed an approximation of trust that Sully got to see their living conditions. The rest of the apartment would usually be cluttered and messy, but the kitchen was always spotless.

He was about to get himself a beer from their hidden stash when he heard the creak of a door opening. Rafe came walking stiffly down the hallway, much to Sully's surprise. His eyes were still red, but that was the only indication that he had been crying. He hadn't changed his clothes, and the way he carried himself suggested that he had just escaped a boring meeting rather than spent time over someone's knee.

He carefully placed his mug and glass on the counter by the sink, next to Sam, then he looked around. "Where's the trash can?"

Sam glanced at Sully, unsure what to think, then gestured to a cabinet near the door. "Under there."

Rafe nodded in acknowledgement and opened the door for access, then he knelt down, pausing only for a second as his jeans pressed tighter against his bottom, and began to clean up the shattered plate and eggs on the floor. He had to fight the groan that was building in his throat, but there was no way in hell he'd show any signs of pain.

When everything was tossed out, he looked up at Sully. "Cleaning supplies?"

"Here," Sam answered before Victor could. He took a keyring from his pocket and unlocked the cabinet under the sink. "You'll only need a little bit of Pine-Sol."

Rafe raised a brow. "You keep it locked? Really? What, are you worried that I'm going to accidentally swallow something under there?"

"We're more worried that you'll try to slip something in our drinks," Sam said evenly.

"That's fair enough." Rafe went over and grabbed the cleaning supplies he'd need. "I personally never went for poisoning, though. It takes too long. Very messy business."

"Right. That doesn't make me feel any better," Sam told him drily.

The corners of Rafe's mouth twitched up in the hint of a smirk, but it disappeared when he had to kneel down again to clean the floor.

Sully leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, watching. Rafe seemed to have recovered completely, which puzzled him. He was pretty sure he'd need longer than that. He wasn't going to press the issue, though. "What do you think of lobster for dinner, kid? Do you eat it?"

Rafe glanced up at him as he cleaned. He was in his thirties, not a 'kid'. "Depends, _old man_. I won't if it's frozen or drenched in butter. Otherwise, yes, I like lobster. What else were you planning on making?"

"You'd better pray that you never have to try his cooking," Sam commented without looking up from the sink. "We have corn, I was thinking that and potatoes would be good."

"Two starches?" Rafe shook his head. "Do you know anything about balance? I'll eat the corn, but that's it. Make something green."

Sam smirked at that. "I can, but only if you like canned."

Rafe nearly gagged at the thought. "I'll just make myself another salad."

"I thought you might."

"Maybe we should go over our food supplies now, if you're up for it," Sully suggested. "We can have a new shipment here for you by tomorrow."

"Alright." Rafe finished up and put the supplies away and then followed Sully over to the pantry. He hadn't been planning on spending more than a few minutes out of his room to clean, but he was doing his best to seem compliant. He'd just have to hide his pain and resentment for a little while longer.

Sully unlocked the door and Rafe got his first glance inside.

It was big, big enough for both of them to walk into it. Only about half of the shelves had food on them, and most of it was inedible shit. There was a freezer against the back wall, probably full of greasy meats. He doubted that there was much he could stomach in there.

Rafe began looking through the inventory methodically, mentioning any food item he would eat, and things he didn't even want touching his food. Sully kept track of it all in a notepad. Rafe also kept a mental list of everything available to him, though that was more out of professional habit than because he thought it would be useful. It was good business to know what was in stock.

When he had gone through everything, they left the pantry and it was re-locked. Sully asked him if there was anything he didn't see in there or the fridge that he'd like to have, so he took the notepad and began writing. It was a long list, but almost everything on it was essential to his diet. To his surprise, when Sully looked at the list he agreed to most of it. There were only a few things that he crossed out, saying that he'd have the chance to earn those items as reward for good behavior. _Great_. He was a goddamned toddler. Still, none of those items were things he couldn't find substitutes for, so he didn't protest apart from rolling his eyes. At least he was going to get some good tea out of this.

Once the supply list was decided, Rafe cleared his throat. He didn't want to broach this topic, but it would play into the image of cooperativeness he was trying to build. "You mentioned that you want me to help with the housework. What were you expecting from me?"

"Don't worry about it today," Sully answered, putting the notepad in his pocket. "We'll discuss it tomorrow. For now, you can do whatever you want, as long as it's within the rules. There are plenty of books in the living room if you want to read. You should find something interesting in there. Or, if you want to see the rest of the island, we could go take a walk."

Rafe scoffed. A walk around an island _, how quaint_. "Sorry, Skipper, I'm not in the mood right now. Maybe I'll go next time, if you promise to leave Gilligan behind." Without waiting for a reply, he left the kitchen and went into the living room. He'd obey, but he wasn't going to spend another second with those two if he didn't have to.

* * *

The afternoon turned out to be a bigger ordeal than Rafe had prepared himself for, and in a different way than he was expecting. When he had finally worked up the will to leave his room and face the other two men in the house, there were no amused glances or stifled laughs. If they were gloating, they had the grace to do it when he couldn't hear. For the time being it appeared that they actually wanted him to feel comfortable here- despite the pain in his ass. He wasn't sure how to interpret that.

The challenge turned out to be a physical one rather than an attack on his ego. He knew beforehand that it would hurt for a while afterwards, but several hours had passed and the heat showed no sign of dissipating. No matter what position he tried, he couldn't sit still, and he had to constantly shift his weight to gain a few seconds of relief. It was very distracting while trying to read- and all that was while sitting on the couch. The dining chairs were a whole different story. His pride made him sit as still as possible through lunch, but he ended up losing his appetite and leaving before it was finished.

Dinner was going to be a nightmare. He could hear the pot boiling away and knew that he'd have to face those chairs again soon. Somehow he was going to have to make it through the whole meal quietly- saying he wasn't hungry or eating in another room would be an admission of weakness, and he wasn't going to have that. They needed to know that the spanking did not affect him.

Before he was ready, the time came.

"Hey," Sam stuck his head into the living room. Rafe had been in there all day with a book, but he was pretty sure he wasn't actually looking at it. "Food's ready if you want to eat."

Rafe glanced up from a page he had spent the last forty minutes re-reading. "Already?" He stood and set the book aside, mentally preparing himself. "Are you sure you cooked those lobsters all the way?"

"If I didn't then you can complain to the manager," Sam smirked and stepped aside so Rafe could pass him.

"I hear he's an asshole anyway." Rafe walked over to the table, hearing Sam laugh from the living room. Sully was already sitting down. He didn't want to look at him, but he forced himself to smile.

"Hey kid, how are you doing?" Sully asked gently. After Rafe had left the kitchen earlier, he was certain he hadn't recovered yet. Either he used an entirely different method to cope than Sully had seen before, or he was in denial over the whole thing- or those were two sides of the same coin, most likely.

"Fine," Rafe answered curtly, biting back the urge to call him an old man again. It was a petty reaction, and it didn't seem to have an effect on him anyway.

"I took out your leftover salad from lunch, I figured if you were still hungry then that would be enough," Sam called out. "Wait, don't sit down yet. Head's up."

Rafe turned just in time to catch a couch pillow. It took him a few seconds to register why Sam had thrown it to him, and when he realized it his face turned from a look of confusion to a scowl. This was more along the lines of what he was expecting earlier. He threw the pillow down on the floor and glared at Sam. "Go fuck yourself."

"Hey," Sam held his hands up placatingly, "I'm trying to be nice here. We both know you could use it."

"I don't need it," Rafe insisted through grit teeth, stubbornly sitting down on the wooden seat. He used all of his willpower to stop himself from flinching.

"So we're just supposed to sit here and pretend we don't see you squirming?" Sam asked. "That got old during lunch."

"For Christ's sake, Sam, you're not helping," Sully rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He knew Sam meant well, but Rafe wouldn't see things from his point of view. He'd just think he was mocking him.

"What? It's true," Sam looked down at Victor, "I know you saw it."

"Just sit down," Sully told him, exasperated. He ran a hand over his face then looked to Rafe. Even with a silver tongue, he wasn't sure he'd be able to smooth this over. "He didn't mean anything by it, kid. He's right, though, it will help. If you want the pillow, that's fine. We won't say anything. But if you don't want it, that's fine too."

"I don't need it," Rafe repeated. He felt the strong urge to attack Sam again, but he repressed it. He wasn't stupid enough to take that bait.

"Swell. Let's just eat before we kill each other."

Sam scoffed and sat down. "Sorry. I didn't know it was gonna be a sore spot."

Rafe closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Sullivan, can you _please_ make him eat outside?"

"Why? I just- Oh, for fu… It's a _phrase_ ," Sam shook his head. "I wasn't teasing."

"Sure you weren't," Rafe sent him a death glare.

Sully sighed heavily. This year was off to a _great_ start.


	4. Chapter Four

Rafe tore open his lobster's carapace and threw it into a scrap bowl that was set in the center of the table. He channeled his frustration into ripping the joints underneath, gaining access to the small bits of sweet meat inside.

Everyone was eating in silence. Sully had tried to introduce some conversation once by asking Rafe if he'd found something interesting to read. Rafe couldn't even remember what his book had been about, so he answered simply that it was better than talking to them all afternoon. The quiet returned after that.

The more he ate, though, the more Rafe's anger dissipated. His mind was distracted by the food, which both surprised him and made him suspicious. It was almost enough to make him forget the soreness in his rear end- or at least forget to pretend that he didn't feel it. He began to absentmindedly steal quick peeks at Sam, trying to fit the pieces together.

After several minutes of that had passed, Sam had had enough. He set his corn down and sat up straight, looking directly at Rafe. "If you keep glaring at me, _you're_ going to eat outside."

Rafe wasn't fazed. "How?" he asked simply.

"How? I'll grab your chair and-"

"No," Rafe shook his head and waved the rest of Sam's answer away. "How do _you_ know how to _cook_?"

Sam blinked and furrowed his brows. "Huh?"

Rafe gestured to his lobster and corn. "These. They're not mushy or undercooked. Most people are terrible at making these their first time. And with your background I doubt you had the opportunity to cook them much- no offense intended, but feel free to take some anyway. So, how?"

Sam leaned his elbow on the table. "You were just yelling at me for giving you a pillow, and now you're mad because I make good food?"

"I'm not mad, it just doesn't make any _sense_."

"Right." Sam shook his head. "I was never a professional thief full time, you know. People didn't come up to me, asking me to steal things for them, one right after the other, and there wasn't always an easy mark that'd pay off well. I still had to feed my brother and myself during the off months, especially before he could work on his own, so I took as many different jobs as I needed to. Once I was in a restaurant kitchen; probably the longest legal gig I ever held. Nate loved it, I was bringing home all kinds of food every night- more than just grilled cheese or canned soup."

"Ok, you could have just said that you worked in a restaurant," Rafe tossed a claw in the bowl, "I didn't need the life story. It still doesn't make sense that they'd let some untrained brat make the food, unless it wasn't a very good restaurant. And, if that was the case, you wouldn't have learned how to cook anyway."

"I didn't start with cooking, I started by washing dishes," Sam explained, ignoring the first few comments. "After a couple weeks they moved me to food prep, and I went up from there. That's how a lot of places do things. You'd know that if you ever had to work a minimum wage job."

Rafe gave him a polite smile. "Well, thankfully I was always on the management end of business. I didn't have to work with people like you."

"People like me?" Sam scoffed and cocked his head to the side. "Mhm. And by that you mean, what, people who weren't spoiled by their parents?"

Sully sensed another argument coming on. "Sam," he began saying, "Just let it-"

"No," Rafe interrupted. The anger sparked back in his stomach almost instantly. "Go on, Samuel. Keep talking."

"About what?" Sam leaned back. "How you never had to work for anything? Or about how your parents never asked for anything from y-"

In an instant, Rafe was on his feet and he flipped the scrap bowl onto Sam, spilling cobs and shells and innards right into his lap. "Don't talk about things you don't know," he warned, his voice dangerously low.

"Rafe," Sully spoke sternly, "You need to calm down."

Sam froze in shock. He was _not_ expecting that. Then he slowly let out his breath and stood, brushing off his shirt and pants. "Right," he said calmly, looking down at Rafe. "Then I'll say something I _do_ know. If your parents spent less time giving you everything you wanted and more time spanking you, we would have found that treasure fifteen years ago, and then none of us would be here right now."

A vein throbbed in Rafe's forehead. His judgement clouded, and all plans he had of compliance went out the window. His hand curled into a fist as his vision tunneled, lining up the perfect hit. He was _livid_.

Then there was a sharp pain between his eyes.

"Ow! _Shit!_ " he rubbed at the spot and looked over at Sully, who was now standing. "Did you just _flick_ me?!"

"Felt like it, didn't it?" Sully responded evenly, and he gestured behind Rafe. "Go stand in the corner."

" _What?!_ "

"Go stand in the corner," he repeated, "Until you're calm enough to talk. I _really_ don't think you and I need to have another discussion right now."

Rafe's face flushed as he glared at Sully, contemplating hitting _him_ now. But, the older man was right, he definitely didn't want to go through all of that twice in one day. Besides, he was pretty confident that _this_ was a punishment that wasn't going to do anything unexpected. He slowly turned and walked to the indicated corner, crossing his arms. "Let me guess, stand here for five hours? Or is it until my legs give out?"

"If that's how long you need," Sully answered. "You decide when you're ready to come out, just be calm when you do. If you get worked up like that again then we _will_ have that discussion."

Rafe nodded once. This was condescending, but it still wasn't as bad as it could have been. At least he didn't have to _look_ at them anymore.

When Rafe's back was turned, Sully gave Sam a hard look.

"I'm going to go take a shower," Sam said. _Another one_. "I was done eating anyway." He gave his shirt one last brush and walked off in the direction of his room.

Sully sighed and sat back down at the table. Tonight definitely wasn't going very well. He was going to have to talk with Sam.

It was difficult because they'd never had the same kind of relationship that he had with Nate, or that he was imposing on Rafe. Sure, there had been a _few_ times when the line blurred, but those had been more of Sam's decisions than his. He wouldn't enforce anything on the older Drake, but he _would_ try to reason with him.

Then he had a thought, something that would make both Sam and Rafe balk when they heard it, and Sully couldn't help smirking a little. He'd unload _that_ surprise on them tomorrow.

After a few moments there was a shuffle as Rafe turned around from the corner. His face was a mask of serenity. "Alright," he said casually, "I'm calm now, but I'm not hungry anymore. I'm just going to my room." He began walking for the hallway.

"No," Sully spoke up, watching him.

Rafe paused. "No?" A hint of the anger that he was trying hard to keep suppressed crept into his tone.

"No, first you're going to clean up your mess," Sully answered. "That garbage is all over the floor."

Rafe glanced down at it. "Samuel can clean it up."

"He's not the one who spilled it, you are," Sully said firmly.

Rafe rolled his eyes, the mask suddenly gone and replaced with extreme annoyance, and walked around the table without another word. This time he didn't bother using any cleaners. He just threw everything away and wiped the floor down with a napkin. "There, happy?"

"That'll do," Sully answered. He knew he wasn't going to get anything better from Rafe that night without a struggle, and it wasn't worth the headache. "You can go to your room now, if you want. Take your book so you don't get bored. And, kid? If you're just saying that you're not hungry to get out of here, take your salad with you, or bring it in case you get hungry later. You didn't eat much today."

Rafe narrowed his eyes, contemplating. He couldn't get a read on Sully. First he stopped him from punching Sam under the guise of saving him from more punishment and not for Sam's sake, and now this. He acted like he was actually worried for his well-being, which made _no_ sense at all. This was like a fucked-up version of Good Cop-Bad Cop, with them trying to earn his trust. Good thing he wasn't fooled that easily.

Still, the old man's words did make sense; he'd need to eat to keep his strength up while living here, and with his door being locked at night he wouldn't be able to sneak out later for food. Slowly, as if it was his own idea, he picked up his salad and then walked to the living room for his book. Then he continued down the hallway to his room.

When he heard the door close, Sully stood and began to put the remaining food away. At least the kid was listening to him even when it wasn't a command, which had to be a good sign. He had a feeling that once he got Rafe's temper under control, he'd be much easier to live with. However, he _also_ felt like _getting_ it under control was going to take a _lot_ of goddamn work.

He had nearly finished bussing when Sam returned, now clean, dressed simply in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt.

Sam glanced around the kitchen before his eyes settled on the older man. "Did Rafe go to his room?"

"He did," Sully answered, placing some dishes in the sink.

Sam walked over and turned the water on so he could start washing them. "Are you going to spank him?"

"Nope," Sully replied and leaned against the counter, letting Sam take over. Everything else was put away already, and Sam liked to do the dishes himself. Some of his cooking ware had to be cleaned a specific way, and he felt better when he knew for sure it was done correctly.

"No," Sam repeated with a nod. "Uh-huh. Why not?" He glanced over, wondering if Victor had lost his resolve for all of this already.

"Because he doesn't deserve it," Sully said simply.

"He doesn't- Victor, he threw lobster guts at me."

"Yeah, after you provoked him," Sully said evenly.

"No, no I did _not-_ "

"You did. He was getting upset and you kept going." Sully kept his voice level. He was stating facts, _not_ starting another argument.

"Only _after_ he flipped the bowl on me." Sam tossed his dishrag into the sink. "Come on, we both know he hates me, and he's overreacting to everything just to get back at me."

"Exactly," Sully shook his head and lowered his voice. "He does hate you. I don't think you realize that he _also_ thinks you hate him too. Anything you do or say, even if it doesn't involve him, that's the context he'll take it in. I'm not saying you shouldn't try, just don't be so…" He tried thinking of a polite way to put it, "… So goddamn blunt. Be subtle. If you're going to give him a pillow, tell him you don't want his jean rivets scratching the wood, not that it's for his bottom. He'll react better to that." He paused and reached in his shirt pocket for a cigar. "It's probably a good idea to steer clear of mentioning his parents for now, too."

Sam exhaled and picked up the dishrag again to resume cleaning. "I'm not going to play games with him."

"I know you don't like it, that was never your thing," Sully said simply. "You'd rather just talk. But that's not how people in his business work. We've both dealt with them before and I know you can smooth-talk when you really want to. But if not, then I hope you're ready for a year's worth of punches and arguments, because I'm not going to stop him if you're just going to start him off again. It's not fair to either of us."

Sam was quiet for a few minutes, scrubbing fastidiously at a pot. Finally he sighed. "Fine, I'll be a little more 'delicate' with him, I don't need to be down on his level anyway. But don't expect me to be too diplomatic; if I need to speak my mind, I will. I won't hide behind a bunch of words."

Sully gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Thank you. Now, I don't think he's coming out again tonight. I'm going to get myself a beer. Do you want one?"

"You kidding? I've been wanting one since I woke up."

* * *

There was a sharp rap on Rafe's door, and Sully's muffled voice came through. "You up, kid? Breakfast is ready, it's time to come out."

Rafe groaned and slowly opened his eyes, finding his alarm clock. It was past eight.

He didn't even remember going to sleep.

"I'll be there'n a couple minutes," he answered, his voice groggy. He must have been completely out of it. So far his plans to stay up all night were not working well. He took a deep breath and braced himself, then gingerly pushed himself up to sit on his bed. Aside from some slight tenderness directly where he sat, the pain was mostly gone, much to his relief. He'd be able to eat with dignity again.

He got to his feet and walked to his dresser to get some clothes. He wasn't sure why Sully was worried about him coming out to eat now, his food didn't have to be prepared. He could eat it any time of the day and it'd be the same. They were just forcing him to interact with them more, which was the last thing he wanted to do right now. Still, since he had a night's rest, and now that he didn't have to devote so much energy ignoring the pain, it'd be easier to pretend to get along with them. Sam wouldn't be able to provoke him a second time.

He picked up his now-empty salad bowl and stepped out into the hallway. When he made it to the kitchen, Sam and Sully were already sitting down. He smiled politely at both of them and set the bowl in the sink, then took his seat. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Sully smiled back and gave his shoulder a pat as he settled in. "How are you feeling today? Better?"

Rafe shrugged his hand away. "I'm fine," he answered. Breakfast was served up a little better today than yesterday; there were two boiled eggs, already shelled, some nuts, and a bowl of sliced fruit. It wasn't anything he couldn't have made himself, but at least he didn't have to do any work.

Sam pushed his chair back and stood. "What do you want to drink?"

Rafe eyed him. "I can get it myself."

"I know. What do you want to drink?" Sam repeated.

Rafe shrugged and took a bite of one of the eggs. "Coffee. Black."

"Right." Sam grabbed a mug from the cupboard and began to pour.

Sully picked up his fork. His plate was full of the same greasy eggs, bacon, and sausage they'd had yesterday. Just looking at it made Rafe want to gag.

"Let me tell you about today's plans," Sully said, oblivious. "Shoreline's coming with the supplies I asked for yesterday. It's a lot, so they won't be here until around two. I need to go meet them on the docks, but you can stay here if you want. Sam'll stay behind with you. I warn you, though, I might be gone a couple hours. Is that alright?"

Rafe frowned and concentrated on his egg, wiping off tiny bits of shell that were overlooked. He doubted it would make any difference if he answered 'no'. "Why can't Sam meet them and you stay behind?" he asked.

Sully hid a smirk at that. "Because I'm the mediator, remember? I do all communication with Nadine and Shoreline. Come on, you think Sam could handle that and not accidentally start another war with them?"

"I'll try not to get offended," Sam said wryly as he set Rafe's mug in front of him, then took a seat.

"No, Samuel, he has a good point," Rafe replied with mock sincerity, then turned his attention back to Victor. "Yeah, I'll be fine, Sully. I'd rather be stuck here with him than have to be out there with them, anyway."

"That's the spirit," Sully chuckled. "Besides, you'll have other things to do. You won't even notice I'm gone."

"Oh, I doubt that," Rafe said slowly, guarding his tone. "I suppose you're talking about my chores?"

"Only one chore," Sully answered, "For now."

"Let me guess, I'll be getting more if I don't behave myself."

"No, you'll get more once you've adjusted." Sully watched him for a reaction, but wasn't surprised when he didn't get one. Rafe was very good at keeping things internal, he was finding out. "I told you at the beginning, this is just to keep things fair. There are three people living here, one or two people shouldn't have to do everything."

"Of course," Rafe agreed. "We couldn't have that, could we? So, what's my one chore for the day? Scrub the floor with a toothbrush?"

"Quit being so dramatic, Annie," Sully shook his head. "It's an easy chore, it'll only take you half an hour _with_ procrastinating." He took a sip of his coffee, letting the thought hang in the air. "You'll be washing the dishes."

There was a clatter as a fork hit the floor. Sam cleared his throat and picked it up. "Victor," he said, " _I_ do the dishes."

Rafe scrunched his nose. "You know, I thought it'd take more torture for me to come to this, but I agree with him. That's his job." He didn't want his hands anywhere near their phlegm and spit.

Sully held a placating finger up. "Sam, you can keep washing the ones that need to be soaked in the tears of angels and massaged with oils from Eden or whatever goddamn complicated process you have for them." And the knives, which he hoped was obvious without him having to say it. "Rafe can get the rest when you're done, that's all."

Sam crossed his arms and gave Sully a long look. He _really_ wished he would have talked with him about this instead of just announcing his decision to both of them. They were supposed to be working together. Then he took a deep breath and looked to Rafe. "Just take the dinnerware today. I'll take the rest."

Rafe scowled at him, but he couldn't protest- for now _._ "Fine," he said simply, focusing his attention back on his food.

Sully nodded. "Good. Now, it's probably best for you to clean those right after we finish eating, but that's your decision. Just have them done before Sam starts cooking the next meal so he can use the sink.

Rafe nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

"You're also in charge of your own laundry. I don't think anyone here wants to wash anyone else's underwear," Sully smirked. "I can show you where the machines are later."

Rafe nearly gagged and he pushed his plate away. "Thanks for that visual," he glared at Sully, crossing his arms. "You can show me now, I'm done eating."

Sully chuckled. "Let me finish my coffee."

* * *

They had to go outside to get to the laundry machines. It was the first time Rafe had ventured out since getting there. Now that he actually took in his surroundings, he decided that he'd been on better islands. This one didn't have the nice view, and the locals were terrible.

It was just a short walk to a concrete shed, and Sully pushed the door open. Inside were a washing machine and dryer, which looked old as shit and able to withstand a nuclear explosion.

"You ever use one of these machines before?" Sully asked him.

Rafe looked at Sully and raised a brow.

"Right. I figured not, you're too rich. I didn't really know how to use them either," Sully admitted, "Always had a girl that did that for me. Sam's the expert, he can show you when you're ready."

Rafe scoffed and walked in, getting a closer look. There was no way he'd let Samuel teach him how to do anything. "I'm sure I can figure it out. How hard can it be?"

Sully shrugged. "It's up to you." At those words, he got assorted visions of soap sud rivulets spouting out of the machine, overfilled and off balance machines slamming into each other, and the dryer spontaneously catching fire. "But, uh, if you do have questions and you don't want to ask Sam, I can always ask them for you. That'd be no problem."

"Fine." Rafe looked around the rest of the room. There was a sink, a cabinet above the sink, and a shelf. It was a small shed. "Is this all you were going to show me?"

"That's about the size of it," Sully nodded.

"Then I'm going to take a shower now." Rafe walked past him out of the shed.

* * *

"No, wash this one again."

Rafe grit his teeth and looked at the plate Sam had taken from the dish-drain. "It looks fine to me." Apparently, he didn't do a good enough job with the breakfast dishes and Sam had to re-wash a lot of them, so now he had taken it upon himself to hover over his shoulder and give instructions for the lunch dishes. Sully was at the docks, a good fifteen minute walk away, and if there had been a sharp knife in the sink Rafe would happily committed murder with the way Sam was acting. All he had to do was swipe a sponge over the surface, how could he mess that up as much as Sam seemed to think he did?

Instead of arguing, Sam reached down and grabbed one of Rafe's hands, then pressed it against the plate. "There, feel that?"

Rafe pulled his hand away immediately. "These plates are cheap, Samuel, they're going to have surface defects."

"Cute. That's grease." Sam couldn't comprehend how someone made it to thirty without washing a single dish in his life, and he suspected Rafe was just lying and exaggerating to get out of doing it. "Wash it until it doesn't feel like that anymore, for all of them, and then I'll start leaving you alone."

Rafe's response was to glare at him until Sam looked away. "Just get it over with and we can both do something we actually want to do," the older Drake said, his free hand instinctively reaching for his cigarette pack before he remembered that Rafe was there. He had no problem smoking inside, but so far, as a courtesy, he wasn't doing it when the other man was present.

Rafe snatched the plate from him and began to wash it again. Maybe Sam shouldn't make everything with a layer of grease if he didn't want his plates turning out like that. It seemed like common sense.

His mind began turning. With Sully out of the house for a while, he was _very_ tempted to try to get back at Sam for what he did last night and what he was doing now. Nothing drastic, because that had to wait for his Revenge on them all, but a punch or two would be very satisfying. Unfortunately, he didn't think he was currently in shape to take Sam down on his own, and he was sure the other man would be on alert the entire afternoon so he wouldn't catch him off-guard. He didn't want another embarrassing incident happening.

Then he had an idea. If he couldn't get back at Sam physically, he had to think along other roads. There were more subtle ways to get to him, or make other people attack Sam for him.

He didn't say another word throughout the dish-washing, and when he was done he silently returned to his room, slamming the door behind him.

He waited by his door for half an hour, listening. He heard Sam go to the living room, and then no sounds for over ten minutes. If he was going to do it, now was as good a time as ever.

Rafe slowly twisted his door handle and pulled the door open an inch, making no noise. Then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, concentrating. With his free hand, he pinched his thigh hard. When the pain was enough to distract his mind and override all of his instincts for self-preservation, Rafe pulled the handle towards him with as much force as he could.

There was a loud slam, and a crack of pain across his face, and he grunted in response. _Shit._ He had been expecting it to hurt, but that was more than even he believed he could force his body to do to itself.

There was a noise as Sam stirred in the living room. "Rafe? What _was_ that? Are you ok?"

Rafe quickly slammed the door shut again. "I'm fine, Sam. Go away."

He heard Sam huff in annoyance, and return to whatever he had been doing. Good. Now all he had to do was sit and wait for Sully to get back.


	5. Chapter Five

Sully pushed the front door open and stepped inside. He saw Sam sitting in the living room, but no sign of Rafe. The kid was probably still sulking in his room. He briefly wondered when that was going to stop, _if_ it ever stopped, but he could worry about that later. "They're bringing the supplies to our porch now. Want to come out and lend a hand?"

"Yeah, sure." Sam set aside a newspaper and got up. It wasn't a current one, it was a week old by now, but that's the best he could get out there.

Every supply drop off came with stacks of different newspapers from the previous week. They wanted to keep up with near-current events during their stay at the house, and there also wasn't a lot of entertainment there; neither of them liked to read books very much. The only reason they had so many of _those_ in the house was because they thought Rafe might get bored without them, and that probably wouldn't turn out well for anyone.

Eventually, when they knew Rafe wasn't going to destroy it out of spite, they planned on installing a TV set to really keep up with things, but that wasn't going to happen for a long, long time.

"How'd it go?" Sam asked as he walked over towards the door.

"Well, they're grumbling about having to be here so soon after the last drop-off, but they really should have known better." Sully took a half-chewed cigar from his mouth. "How were things here? Anything… _interesting_ happen?"

"No, not very," Sam answered, shaking his head. "Rafe's just been in his room. I'm getting the feeling he doesn't want to spend time with me." He smirked a little.

"You think?" Sully chuckled and gave him a pat on his back. "Go on and start getting things organized. You know where you want it all going."

"You just don't want to any heavy lifting yourself," Sam accused lightly, pushing open the door to go outside.

"It can be both," Sully said defensively as he followed him out.

Twenty minutes passed before Rafe's door opened. Sully was back inside, putting away the foods that needed to stay in cold storage, and Sam was outside directing the Shoreline men where to stack things on the porch.

"Do you need any help?" Rafe asked quietly from the hallway.

Sully paused. His voice sounded off… _timid_ even. Something wasn't right. He closed the fridge door partially to glance at the younger man. "If you want to help, go ahead. But you don't have to," he answered, eying him. Rafe was keeping his head turned sideways, keeping one eye fixed on him.

"I _don't_ want to," Rafe muttered, "But I had to ask. Where's Samuel?"

"Outside," Sully said, and he wasn't sure if he should be concerned when Rafe visibly relaxed. He knew Rafe didn't want to be around Sam right now, but this felt different. "Is everything alright, kid?"

"Yeah, peachy," Rafe answered, voice dripping with sarcasm. "If I don't have to help, I'm going back to my room." He turned, carefully keeping the other side of his face away from Sully as he did so, but Sully got a glimpse of it when he started down the hallway.

"Rafe, _wait_." Sully stepped after him and grabbed his arm, turning him back around. And then he got a good, clear look at his other eye. "What the _hell_ happened to you?"

A huge bruise had formed around his eye and upper cheek, and the entire area looked swollen. Sully reached out touch it, but Rafe flinched away as soon as his fingers made contact.

"What do you think?" Rafe growled, pulling his arm from Sully's grip. He turned that side of his face away again. "Exactly what you _wanted_ to happen happened. Now, if you don't want my help, leave me alone."

Sully was shocked. "I didn't-" He stopped himself and shook his head. Arguing wasn't going to help now. "Go lay down. I'll bring you an ice pack and some tea in a few minutes."

Rafe squinted at him suspiciously, then complied. He turned and went back to his room, closing the door gently behind him. Once the door was closed, he flopped on his bed and smirked to himself. That went _perfectly_.

* * *

Sully opened the front door and stepped out on the porch. "Sam," he said, his voice firm, "Come inside for a minute. I need to talk to you."

Sam looked up from the crate he was inspecting and raised a brow. That was a tone he wasn't used to hearing directed at him. "Yeah, sure," he said, trying not to sound too miffed. He looked over at one of the soldiers. "Just make a new stack for everything else over there." He pointed to a free space. "There's not much left to sort through." When the soldier nodded in acknowledgement, Sam stepped past Sully into the house.

Sully closed the door behind them. "Nothing happened while I was away?" he asked. There was an edge to his voice that Sam didn't like.

"I already told you 'no'," Sam answered, crossing his arms. "Why? Did you find something?"

Sully raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me that you don't think a black eye is worth mentioning?"

"Wait, black eye?" Sam's brows knit together and his nose scrunched up. " _What_ black eye?"

Sully watched his expression skeptically, and took a cigar from his pocket. He began to chew on it out of habit, like he always did when he was concerned or agitated. "The left side of Rafe's face is all bruised up. You were here this whole time and you don't know anything about that? That's hard to believe, Sam. Even if you were _sleeping_ the whole time you would have known something about it."

"How the hell…" Sam rubbed at his forehead and took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts together. "Look, I watched him wash the dishes, then he went to his room. A little while after that I heard his door slam twice. I thought he was just trying to annoy me, because he told me he was fine and to leave him alone. That's all I know. I didn't touch him, Victor."

"His door slammed," Sully repeated.

"Yes," Sam narrowed his eyes. "He either accidentally hurt himself or he did it on purpose, but I had nothing to do with it. You should know me better than that."

Sully mulled it over. If Rafe had been embarrassed over an accident, that would explain his behavior. Still, he couldn't imagine the kid being that clumsy. Not even _Nate_ could accidentally give himself a black eye from a door. "Let me get this straight: Rafe willingly slammed a door in his own face, hard enough to give himself a black eye, and pretended to be nervous _just_ so I'd get mad at you? That…" He frowned as he said it and looked at Sam's hands. They had no bruises or broken skin. "That actually sounds like something he _would_ do."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "It does. I told you last night, he wants to get back at me, and now he knows he can't attack me directly unless he doesn't want to sit all day."

Sully sighed heavily and dropped his cigar back into his pocket. "And I fell for it like a goddamned idiot."

"Yeah," Sam smirked a little. "You did." Then he grew more serious. "Do me a favor and remember that next time, don't just assume it was my fault."

"You're a big brother, everything's your fault," Sully smirked back at him. "Don't worry, I will."

"Oh, you have no idea," Sam nodded, "Good. You got things from here, or do you want me to take care of it?"

"I'll handle it," Sully answered. "Go finish up outside."

"It's about time for a cigarette break," Sam said, reaching for his pack as he walked to the door, "Good luck."

"Thanks. I'll need it."

* * *

Sully knocked on Rafe's door and opened it without waiting for a response. He told the kid that he'd be there in a few minutes, so if he walked in on him doing anything, it would be Rafe's own damn fault. He stepped in the doorway with a gel pack, a couple of cotton balls, and a bottle of vodka.

Rafe was laying on his bed, but when he saw the bottle he pushed himself up on his elbows and stared at it. "Just where have you been hiding that?"

"Medicinal use only," Sully responded. "So you don't need to worry about it. Sit up and move over."

Rafe complied and reached for the bottle as Sully settled down on the bed next to him, but the old man pulled it out of reach. "What did I just say?"

"You were serious?" Rafe frowned. "How else are you supposed to take medicine?"

"It's not for drinking," Sully untwisted the cap, then turned the bottle upside-down on one of the cotton balls. "Tilt your head back."

Rafe hesitated, then slowly leaned his head back, watching Sully cautiously. He didn't know what to expect, but he wasn't going to be caught off guard.

"Close your bad eye," Sully instructed as he set the bottle aside. He lightly held Rafe's head to hold it still and began to dab the bruises with vodka. Now that he got a look in good light, he could see the line where the edge of the door hit his skin, right along the side of his nose to the ridge above his eye.

"Why are you doing that?" Rafe asked suspiciously. He was expecting it to sting, but it didn't do anything other than cool his skin. Sully was surprisingly gentle when he wanted to be.

"Old navy trick," Sully answered absently, "Vodka helps the bruise shrink and heal faster."

"I would have thought the navy guys liked to show off their bruises," Rafe commented. "I thought you liked to look tough."

"Not when we weren't supposed to be fighting with each other," Sully smirked, then let go so he could soak another cotton ball. "It happened more often than you'd think. This might be the first time I've treated something self-inflicted like this, though."

He looked up from the cotton to see Rafe's reaction. The younger man tensed up for a second, then he relaxed just as quickly. Instead of protesting, he grinned smugly. "Well," he said with a shrug, "It was worth a shot."

"Was it really?" Sully asked, pulling Rafe close again so he could dab some more vodka to the worst parts of the bruise.

"It almost worked, didn't it?" Rafe asked, watching him calmly from his good eye. When Sully didn't answer, he laughed. That was enough of a confirmation for him. "Besides, it's not like you can hit me for hitting myself. That'd be counter-productive. What _can_ you do?"

He had a point. Sully looked his face over, making sure he had covered it enough, then he screwed the cap back on the bottle. "Don't worry about what I'll do yet." He picked up the gel pack he'd brought with him and held it out. "Just keep this on your eye for now and worry about that instead. I put the water on before coming in, it should be starting to boil. Did you want some tea?"

"Sure, why not?" Rafe answered as he took the offered pack. He flinched slightly when he pressed it to his face. Whatever the vodka did, it didn't numb the pain. "Did you get that Earl Grey I asked for?"

"We have it somewhere," Sully answered. "I'll bring you a cup in a few minutes." He stood and took the cotton balls and bottle with him as he left Rafe's room.

By now Sam was back in the kitchen, re-stocking the cabinet. He saw Sully walk in to put the vodka away. "That was fast."

"I'm not going to spank him," Sully answered the question that he knew Sam would ask.

"Again?" Sam shook his head. "Victor, you're going soft on me."

"If you think that then you don't know me very well," Sully said, leaning casually against the counter. "At the heart of it, all Rafe did was lie to me. He's good at manipulating, we both knew that, but we never really talked about what we should do when he tried it on us."

"Yeah, that's because we already decided on a good punishment for him." Sam put his hands on his hips. "We didn't need to talk about it."

"Well," Sully crossed his arms, "I've thought of a more fitting punishment, but once I go through with it I'll set a precedent. I thought I'd talk with you about it first to make sure you didn't mind."

Sam subconsciously mimicked his posture. Now he was curious. "Why? What are you going to do?"

* * *

Rafe sat propped against his pillow, gel pack on his eye, with his head cocked to the side. He had his book from last night resting on his lap, and he had to squint to be able to see the words on the page. It was hard reading with just one eye, thanks to the pack. He had to start over at the beginning of the book because he hadn't absorbed anything from it the day before, and was actually enjoying it this time through. His tea was already gone, and it had been much more satisfying than the leaf-water Sully had given him last time.

Someone knocked on his door. That meant it was time for his lecture. "Come in," he said, "It's not my house."

"It's still your room," Sully commented as he opened the door. He walked over to Rafe's bed and pulled at his wrist. "Let me see." When the gel pack was out of the way, he inspected the bruising. "Swelling's gone down. It looks better already," he smirked. "Told you, old navy tricks work."

"Or maybe the cold helps, like any sane person would think," Rafe muttered, pushing the pack back to his eye. He was only doing it for effect at this point, because by now it had warmed to room temperature.

"Maybe it's both." Sully stepped back, satisfied that Rafe had recovered enough. He took the pack out of Rafe's hand. "Get up and come with me to the bathroom."

Rafe remained where he was and raised a brow. "Do you even know how that sounds?"

Sully shrugged. "Can you think of a better way to put it?"

He couldn't. "Why do you want me in the bathroom?" Rafe asked instead. He wasn't sure that he really wanted to know.

"Why do you think?"

"My punishment?"

"Bingo."

Rafe glanced in the direction of the kitchen. "Is Sam still inside?"

"Yes, he is," Sully answered. "He's putting the rest of the food away."

"Then no." Rafe turned his attention back to his book.

"That's not really your choice," Sully said, crossing his arms. He straightened his back and fixed Rafe with a stern look. "Get up and come with me."

Rafe wasn't impressed. Even with what happened the day before, he still didn't see Sully as much of a threat. "Tell Sam to leave first."

Sully held his ground, looking him in the eye. "I'm not going to spank you, Rafe. He won't hear anything if you don't make a big deal out of it; unless, of course, I have to _force_ you to come with me. That would be a different story."

Rafe eyed him again, then let out a heavy sigh and marked his page in the book. "Fine. Just get it over with and leave me alone." He stood up as casually as possible, not wanting to appear intimidated, and followed Sully to the bathroom.

Sully left the door open behind them and washed his hands at the sink, leaving Rafe to stand by and wonder what was going to happen. When they were clean, he grabbed a fresh bottle of soap from under the sink, then he opened a cabinet and grabbed a washcloth. He held it up to Rafe. "It was washed when we first got it, but we haven't used it yet," he said.

"And why, exactly, are you telling me this?" Rafe asked. He was watching everything carefully with his arms crossed, trying to figure out what Sully was up to.

"Because I don't want you complaining about germs," he answered as he ran the washcloth under the tap, then pumped some soap on it. "Open your mouth."

Suddenly, it clicked. "Oh, _fuck_ no!" Rafe growled and took a step back. " _No way!_ " He couldn't believe that Sully would even _suggest_ doing _that_ to him!

"Rafe," Sully kept his tone even, "Lying isn't respectful, and I am _not_ a pawn. Get over here and open your mouth. _Now._ "

"That is _not_ going to happen," Rafe glared at him. " _That_ is where I draw the line!"

"You don't get to decide the line," Sully replied. "Are you telling me that you don't think you can handle getting your mouth washed out?"

If looks could kill, Sully would have died ten times over with the one he was getting.

Rafe's stomach was burning with anger, but Sully's implication didn't give his pride much of a choice. He had been through two children's punishments already, was this one going to be so bad?

 _Yes,_ he told himself, _this was_ beyond _humiliating._

But now Sully had issued a challenge, and he couldn't back down without giving the impression that this punishment scared him. That would be even _worse_. Besides, if he kept resisting, Sully might call Sam in to help, and _that_ would be something his ego could never recover from.

How bad could soap really taste?

Stubbornly, he straightened to his full height and stepped closer to Sully, keeping his arms crossed. _Fine_. He would suffer the embarrassment once, nothing would happen, and then he'd never have to go through with it again. He couldn't bring himself to open his mouth for Sully, though. _That_ was asking too much.

Sully watched him silently. That was honestly more than he expected Rafe to do. He thought he'd have to drag him to the sink and pry his teeth apart. "I said open, kid."

Rafe shook his head quickly. "No," he said through grit teeth. "This is as much as you're going to get from me."

"Alright," Sully said. This was like the spanking all over again; Rafe was complying to a point, but he was making Sully work to actually go through with it. Well, he could handle that. He stepped to Rafe's side so he could reach behind him, ignoring the frosty look sent his way, and gave him a firm smack on his bottom.

Rafe was expecting him to start calling Sam, not _that_. He jumped and opened his mouth to protest, and suddenly he was tasting cloth.

Cloth, and the single worst thing that had _ever_ been in his mouth in his _entire_ _life_.

He gagged and tried to twist his head away, but Sully already had a hand on the back on his head holding him steady. Biting down didn't do anything because the damned washcloth protected Sully's fingers. His face flushed.

Sully quickly ran the cloth over Rafe's tongue. He didn't want to cause the kid too much discomfort, but he also wanted to make sure he got a good taste throughout his whole mouth so he'd remember this. Hopefully he wouldn't have to use this punishment too many times before Rafe decided it just wasn't worth it.

Rafe reached up to push Sully away, but the cloth was pulled out of his mouth before he could. He coughed and quickly turned his back to Sully so he couldn't see how red his face had turned. The soap was slimy and bitter, with a sharp taste that completely overwhelmed his senses. It was even making him start to tear up. He needed it out of his mouth _now_ before it made him cry. He stepped towards the sink.

"Don't spit it out yet," Sully ordered lowly, "Not until I tell you to." He didn't want to embarrass Rafe further by being loud enough for Sam to hear.

Rafe set his eyes on the older man, thoughts of murder on his mind, his anger overpowering the need to hide his face. The intensity of the soap was messing with his mind even more than the pain in his rear did before, and he had no control over his body's reaction. It was making him drool, and that only created foam, which pooled towards the back of his throat and made him gag even more. He was pretty sure that mustard gas wouldn't be as cloying as this was.

Sully threw the washcloth into the sink. "No more lying, and no more manipulating," he warned, "Or this is going to happen again." When he was sure that his point was made, he opened the medicine cabinet and took out a small paper cup, then filled it halfway with water. "Go ahead and spit. You can only use this for rinse, though." He wanted the taste to linger, so he wasn't going to let him wash it completely away.

Rafe stepped over to the sink, deliberately pacing himself, and, with what little dignity he could muster, he spat out his mouthful. He glared at Sully out of the corner of his eye as he reached for his cup. "Get out." Rinsing his mouth out like that was too degrading for someone else to see.

Sully shook his head. "Not yet."

"I'm not going to use any more water than this. _Get. Out._ "

" _You_ do not get to make demands," Sully reminded him. "Rinse if you want to, or don't. I don't care. I'm not going to leave until you've calmed back down."

Rafe grit his teeth as he felt his blood pressure rising. The bruises on his face throbbed, making his eye twitch. He gripped the sink tightly in one hand, and the other clenched around the paper cup, crushing it and splashing water all over.

Sully wasn't an idiot. "Go to your room before you do something stupid," he said, using a gentler tone, "Come find me when you're ready to talk."

Rafe threw the cup into the sink angrily and left the bathroom without a word. He slammed his bedroom door behind him.

Who the _fuck_ did Sully think he was?!

His temper was telling him to go back to the bathroom and break that old man's jaw, and maybe his back, and a few ribs for good measure. _That_ would teach him not to treat him like a fucking _child_ who didn't know lying was frowned upon.

The more rational part of his brain told him to calm down, that he had to play along just until he was freed, and then he could do whatever he wanted to them when he had hired guns on his side. He had to remember that he couldn't overpower both Sam and Sully at the same time, and even if he locked the door Sam would still be able to get to him before Sully was incapacitated. It would only give them an excuse to spank him again.

The soap that still lingered in his mouth made it impossible for him to forget the humiliation, though, and it was taking a _large_ effort to get his temper back under control. One thing was certain; he was _not_ going to go back out and _talk_ to Sully about this, even _if_ he calmed down.

* * *

Once Rafe left the bathroom, Sully let out a breath he had been holding and cleaned up the sink area. Then he went back to the kitchen to finish unpacking the cold foods. Sam had the pantry open and was bringing in supplies from the porch. He raised a brow, but Sully shook his head. They would talk about how it went later.

Fifteen minutes passed in silence, and then the door to Rafe's room opened. The kid appeared in the hallway, looking much more collected than he had when he rushed out of the bathroom, and calmly walked towards Sully.

Then he clenched his hand into a fist and cracked it against Sully's chin as hard as he could.


	6. Chapter Six

Sully stumbled back and fell to the floor in shock from the punch. Goddamn it, he probably should have been expecting that. When he sent Rafe to his room, the kid was still on edge. Did he really think he'd calm down that quickly?

He braced himself for another hit, but he never got one.

Rafe only wanted to send a message that he was tired of being treated like a child and he wasn't going to allow it anymore, and one hit was all he needed for that. Sully wasn't like Sam, he didn't have a thick skull that needed to be repeatedly kicked and punched, even _after_ the message was conveyed. But, before he could open his mouth to tell him to knock it off with the children's punishments, he was roughly grabbed under the arms and lifted off his feet.

He immediately tensed and kicked out to right himself, because getting picked up wasn't exactly something he was used to. Right now, he _really_ hated the fact that the other two occupants in the house were a good half-head taller than he was. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but normally people didn't treat him like a fucking kid, either. "Samuel," he growled, "If you don't put me down _now_ I'll-"

"You'll _what_?" Sam interrupted. "What can you do to me from the air, tough guy? You really don't weigh that much; I can hold you here as long as I want, and I'm not gonna put you down until you cool off and quit being so punch-happy. So, take a deep breath, stop being an asshole, and you'll get to stand on your own."

"It was _one_ punch, that's not punch-happy! I was already done before you decided to interfere," Rafe protested. He turned his head, trying to get a lock on Sam's exact location. Judging by what he could see and the direction of Sam's voice, he was being held slightly above his head, about a foot in front of the older Drake. That meant a backwards head-butt was out of the question. He tried to reach back and grab a handful of Sam's hair, or poke his eye, or just find _something_ to his advantage.

Sam saw his hand reaching for his face and immediately let Rafe drop a few inches, catching him before his feet could reach the floor and shocking him out of the attempt. "Yeah, you're not exactly proving your point here," he said wryly as he raised him back up again. His voice sounded slightly strained by the effort, but then again it could have been the years of nicotine plaque built up in his lungs, too. "Knock it off."

Rafe huffed in frustration and tried two more times with the same result. He kicked, but he didn't have the momentum to swing his feet back hard enough, and even if that was possible he couldn't reach any sensitive areas. Only when he had exhausted all of his other options did he take a deep breath and went still, holding his arms out in surrender. "Fine, you win. I'm calm."

"Glad to hear it." Sam lowered him back down, but stopped just when Rafe's toes barely touched the floor. He leaned his head down to speak directly into his ear. "Now, you are gonna go to your room. You're gonna leave your door open, and you're gonna sit and wait on your bed. Got it?"

"Fuck you," Rafe answered evenly.

"Good." Sam let go of him completely, dropping him on his feet.

Rafe stumbled a little, then caught his balance and stood up straight, squaring his shoulders. He walked forward without so much as a glance at the other men.

Sam kept an eye on him until he disappeared down the hallway, then he turned his attention on Sully, who by now had gotten back on his feet and was leaning unsteadily on the counter. "You okay?"

Sully rubbed at his jaw. There was a dull ache running through his teeth to his temple, and his throat and eye were throbbing in sympathy, but it didn't feel like anything was broken. "I've had worse," he answered, "That kid can pack a punch, though."

"You're preaching to the choir," Sam scoffed. His own bruises that Rafe had given him were still tender. He stepped closer to get a look at Sully for himself, just to be sure nothing was too bad. "Want me to get you some ice?" he asked, prodding the spot where it looked the worst.

"I'm fine," Sully frowned and lightly pushed him away. "Quit mother-henning. I've been taking care of myself since long before you were born."

"Don't worry, I'm not," Sam smirked a little and stepped back. "I'm trying to save my ears, and whatever's left of my sanity. If I let anything happen to you here then I'll never hear the end of it."

Sully looked at him, then smirked back and started to rub his jaw again. "Yeah, you're right, I didn't think of that. There'd be whining for days. Nate'd never shut up. Even my ears would be ready to fall off."

"Not to mention the tantrums. It'd be awful," Sam agreed, chuckling. It probably wasn't fair to his younger brother, but it wasn't like he was there to hear it. " _He's_ not light enough to me to just pick up and put an end to it, either."

Sully glanced towards Rafe's room and lowered his voice. "Speaking of whining, you can probably expect some for that. I think it's safe to say you're not his favorite person at the moment."

"Was I ever? Somehow, I think I'll live." Sam crossed his arms, matching Sully's volume. "But when he dropped me yesterday he tried to kick my head, and I didn't want to chance that happening again. Your head can't take quite as much as mine can."

Sully shrugged. "I'm not saying you didn't have your reasons, I'm just saying don't be surprised if you hear about it later. Then again, this _is_ Rafe; he might keep quiet and just glare at you for the rest of the day, too. I'll do my best to smooth it over, after he and I have our talk." His jaw was feeling better; not great, but good enough that he felt ready to go and deal with the kid.

"Oh, no," Sam shook his head and pulled a chair out from the table. "You sit down and rest, have a beer or something. This time _I'm_ taking care of it."

* * *

Rafe sat on his bed with his arms crossed. He was straining to hear what the two others were saying, but they were speaking too quietly for him to make out any words other than Sam making sure the old man was alright. It didn't really matter, though, he knew what they were talking about. Any minute Sully was going to walk in and tell him to get across his lap, then harp on how he really didn't want to do this but it was Rafe's choice, and how he was just trying to help in the long run. It was all a load of bullshit.

Then the door swung inwards without a knock, and Sam walked in. "You know," he commented, closing it behind him, "When I said leave the door open, I didn't mean by just an inch."

Rafe narrowed his eyes and brought his legs up to back to the other side of the bed, crossing his arms protectively over his chest when he got there. He wasn't expecting Sam, and he didn't like seeing him at all. "What are you doing here?"

"I think you know what I'm doing here," Sam looked at him, then walked over to his bed. For someone who laughed at the idea of getting spanked yesterday, he sure seemed pretty intimidated. "Quit sulking and we can just get this over with."

"That's not going to fucking happen," Rafe glared at him. "I'll talk with Sully, _not_ you. _Get out._ " Who the fuck did Sam think he was?

Sam shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping his eyes on Rafe. He didn't want any more surprise bruises. "We both know that's not how it works. If you want Sully to spank you instead, then next time you have the urge to punch someone, you come after me. Get over here."

Rafe blushed furiously. "That's not what I meant!" He didn't want _anyone_ to spank him, it was just a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. In the back of his mind he had the idea that Sam might be using that phrasing just to get him to shut up, but he really didn't think Sam was capable of that level of scheming.

"I don't care. You're behaving like a royal brat right now, Rafe. If I have to start counting to get you over here then you won't like what I do when I get to 'one'," Sam warned him, keeping his voice even. Jesus, he thought he was done with 'the teenage years' a long time ago.

"I don't like what you're doing _now_ ," Rafe retaliated. "Call me a brat all you want, I'm still not moving anywhere until you leave and Sullivan comes in here."

"Fair enough." Sam stood up, and he saw Rafe's eyes light up from the thought that he won the argument. It was time to crush that hope. He leaned over to grab Rafe's leg and yank him across the bed.

Rafe yelped at the sudden upset of balance and he found himself staring at the ceiling. He pushed himself up on his elbows and glared at Sam. "Let _go_ of me!" He accentuated that demand by drawing back his free leg and lining up a kick for Sam's face.

Sam easily grabbed his other ankle before he could follow through, though, then he twisted Rafe's legs and forced him onto his stomach. Rafe reacted by grabbing onto the edge of the bed to anchor himself, and he kicked his legs to try to break Sam's grip on them.

Sam almost had to let go, but he got both legs under one arm and hugged them to his side, then grabbed the back of Rafe's pants to pull him over. "I'll let go of you when you agree to stop acting like a brat and just take your spanking."

"I _will_ take my _punishment_ ," Rafe growled, "From _Sully_ , not from _you_!" He moved one hand from the edge of his bed to his waistband so his pants wouldn't slip off; he couldn't let _that_ happen. The other hand kept its grip. He spent too much time climbing across cliffs and over buildings to lose his hold that easily.

"Oh yeah?" Sam grunted with exertion, "Well, Sully is indisposed, thanks to you, so you'll just have to deal with it." He sat down, keeping Rafe's legs tucked against his side, which forced him to let go of the bed because of the way his body twisted. Then he tugged him onto his lap.

Rafe wasn't ready to give up yet. He leveraged his upper half up behind Sam's back and reached out to wrap an arm around his neck. "I will choke you if I have to, Sam!" he growled, letting his supporting arm go limp to put all the pressure of his body weight against Sam's throat.

Sam quelled the urge to let go of Rafe and free himself. He had learned a long time ago not to panic when things like this happened, or they just got worse. Instead, he got one of his legs around Rafe's to pin them in place, then he forced a hand up between his neck and the crook of Rafe's arm. He made his other hand into a fist and slammed it against Rafe's elbow, hitting the ulna.

A sharp, unpleasant tingling sensation ran up Rafe's elbow to his fingers, and for a moment his arm involuntarily went limp. "Shit!" he groaned as he fell back on the bed, losing all of his support. Before he could recover, Sam pulled him further over his lap by the hips so he couldn't twist behind his back anymore. Then he grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the small of his back.

When that was done Rafe's legs were freed and moved to dangle off of Sam's knee, and he was trapped in that position. Rafe really wished his body would stop betraying him like that.

"There we go." Sam sighed. He was breathing heavily from all the effort, but hopefully it was over now. He looked down at the body laying across his lap. "Are you done yet?" he asked.

Rafe could hear the exhaustion in his voice, and he hoped it meant he was too tired to do any real damage to his ass. He rolled back and forth, testing the strength of Sam's hold on him, then finally went limp. "I guess so," he answered, "For now."

"Good. Trust me, you'll have a lot more to worry about than trying to kill me soon enough," Sam commented. He moved Rafe's wrists so he could hold them both in one hand, then raised his other and brought it down hard across his bottom.

Rafe's face flushed as the reality of his situation sunk in, but he kept himself from flinching. He, Rafe Adler, was getting spanked _again_ by Samuel Drake, something he swore to himself over and over in his cell that he wouldn't allow to happen again. But now that it started, there was a small bit of hope left: he only had to fight against _one_ of Sam's hands to be free.

He held his breath, waiting for Sam's grip to relax a little now that he thought he had him trapped, then, when the timing was right, he wrenched his wrists against each other as hard as he could. At the same time he pulled his hands down towards his stomach.

"Ow!" Sam cursed as his fingers were pinched and forced apart by the move, making him let go momentarily. Instead of going directly for his wrists again, he grabbed Rafe in the crooks of his elbows and pulled his arms back. "Really, Rafe? Can you just let me do this? It's not like I want to spend my afternoon spanking you." In a matter of seconds he regained control of Rafe's hands and pinned them higher up behind his back where he had less mobile control.

"It's not like I want to spend an afternoon doing _anything_ with you," Rafe snarled. Why weren't any of his escape attempts working?! He _knew_ Sam wasn't a better fighter than him! If he had been able to work out in his cell, and if this was on fair fighting grounds, he knew the older Drake would never have a chance. "So why don't you get out of here and when Sully's done nursing his bump then he can come in to talk to me, and _then_ I'll cooperate."

"You mean to spank you," Sam corrected. He noticed that even Rafe's ears were red at this point. He _really_ hated having that word pointed out to him, and Sam had no problem using it to bring him back to reality. "I already told you that's not how it's gonna be. Stop demanding, you're not a prince here."

Rafe didn't reply. A fiery knot was forming in his stomach, and his anger was nearly palpable. How _dare_ Samuel talk to him like that?! In all the years he had known him, he could have- _should have_ \- killed him many times, but he didn't. Now Sam was trying to act all high and mighty, and he had the nerve to act like Rafe was the spoiled one? No, he was _definitely_ going to get revenge in the most painful way imaginable.

Sam eyed Rafe for a moment, trying to figure out if he was listening or blocking everything out. Then he shrugged and decided it didn't matter. If he didn't listen to his words, he'd be listening to his hand soon enough. Maybe he'd finally learn that he didn't own everything in the world and that things wouldn't be handed to him on a silver platter in this house, and that he couldn't just throw a tantrum when things didn't go his way. If Rafe's parents were still alive, he'd sue for all the trouble they caused by raising him like that.

He shifted a little and adjusted Rafe over his lap, making sure that he wouldn't be able to try anything else, then he brought his hand down firmly across the center of his bottom.

Rafe squeezed his eyes shut and tried to relax. He wanted to tense up against the pain, but he knew that he had to save his strength for later when it became unbearable and he _really_ had to fight to keep still. For now, all he could do was keep himself from squirming or moving too much, and keep his goddamn voice on mute.

Sam spanked him quietly for a few moments, spreading out the swats evenly. No matter where he hit, though, he couldn't get a reaction from Rafe, even when he smacked his sit-spots. He wasn't going to hit harder, especially since it was just starting and he didn't want to overwhelm Rafe- or kill his hand- despite what the other might think. He figured the brat was in denial and pretending that it wasn't happening. He wasn't going to let him have that delusion for long; checking out of reality would only add time before it was over.

"You know," Sam remarked, trying to engage him, "I wouldn't have thought a tough guy with your reputation would punch an old man just because you couldn't handle the taste of soap."

Rafe grit his teeth. It wasn't _just_ about the soap. It was about dignity, and not letting people walk over you- it was just _good business_ to take control of those situations before they got too far. Even if it didn't work out in his favor, Sully at least knew that he wasn't going to sit by and let things happen to him now. But, even if Sam knew what those concepts _meant_ , he didn't think his mind could handle anything more complex than a two-piece puzzle. He wasn't capable of understanding _why_ Rafe had punched the old man.

"My reputation is that I don't let people who cross me get away with it," he explained with a strained voice. "I'd say that fits in pretty well."

"Yeah?" Sam aimed two swats in a row at his right sit-spot, finally feeling the slightest jump from him. Good, talking made him focus on the present. He continued doubling the swats to make them harder to ignore. "Is that the real reason you gave yourself a black eye? You think you crossed yourself just by ending up in this house instead of negotiating with us back on the ship?"

"Fuck you, Samuel."

Sam paused and rested his hand on Rafe's back. "Are you _sure_ you want to say that to me right now?" he asked pointedly.

"Just because you think you have me vulnerable doesn't mean I'm going to walk on eggshells," Rafe turned his head to glance over his shoulder as best as he could in that position, just so Sam could feel the full venom behind his words. "I'll say it again: _fuck you_ , Samuel Drake."

"As long as you're sure." Sam shrugged and moved his hand down to Rafe's pants, slipping his fingers under his waistband. "See, I _know_ Victor already gave you a warning about insults when you're getting spanked." Without giving him a chance to protest, he yanked his pants down and worked them to his knees, leaving him with only boxer briefs for protection.

Rafe's entire body went stiff with indignation, and his face turned a deeper shade of red, if possible. He was frozen in place until he felt a strike on the now-bare skin of his upper thigh. This time he couldn't stop himself from jumping and yelping with indignation. "S-Sam!" he finally sputtered, "Put my pants back up _now!_ "

"No," Sam said simply, smacking his other thigh, "You already got your warning. You break a rule, you deal with the consequences. You won't be able to wheedle your way out of this, Rafe." Sam could feel him taking a deep breath, and he quickly gripped the waistband of Rafe's underwear before he could say whatever was building in his throat. "Go on, threaten me and curse at me some more. See how that turns out for you."

Rafe swallowed, choking back the words he was about to spit out. He could feel a blush creeping over his neck and shoulders and down his spine. The _thought_ of being over Sam's knee, bare-assed, with no protection _alone_ was more humiliation than he could endure. If it actually _happened_ he was pretty certain that he would literally die.

He took a deep, shuddering breath and lowered his head until his blanket pressed against his forehead. It took him a few seconds to find his voice. "Sam," he said with calmness he didn't feel, "Let go of my hands."

"What?" Sam raised a brow and let go of his waistband. That wasn't the direction he was expecting this conversation to take. "Are you serious? After how much trouble you were giving me earlier, you really think I'm going to let you go?" He scoffed. "Sorry Rafe, but no-can-do."

" _Samuel_." Rafe paused when a bit of desperation mixed into his voice, and he cleared his throat to steady it again. He was going to hate himself for saying this, but he _had_ to win this one. "Please. Let go of my hands."

Sam hesitated. He really didn't trust Rafe, but in all the years he had known him he had never once heard the word 'please' come out of his mouth except by sarcasm. Maybe it was a sign that the punishment was finally taking hold. "Alright," he agreed, "But if you try to fight me again then I'm going to find something worse than my hand to spank you with."

Rafe nodded slightly in acknowledgement, keeping his head down. As soon as the pressure on his wrists eased up, he wrapped his arms around his head and buried his face against an elbow. That made him feel a little bit better about his current situation. If he cried this time, at least Sam wouldn't be able to see it, and hopefully his head was too far up his own ass for him to be able to hear it, too.

Sam tucked Rafe's side under his arm to keep him in place. For once, he wasn't quite sure that he knew what to do. He had seen many sides of Rafe, along with many different reactions to things, but this one was new. He didn't think he was acting, either. The younger man was too proud to voluntarily let anyone see him so defenseless, even if it was going to get him out of trouble. He suspected that was part of the reason why Rafe went crazy in the treasure room to begin with.

Still, he had started this punishment, and now he had to end it. They were both long ready for it to be over. He quietly began to spank him again, concentrating the swats on his sit-spots and thighs. Hopefully that would speed things along.

Rafe kept his breathing as even as he could. He didn't want to give Sam the satisfaction of seeing him break, though at this point he didn't trust his body enough to hope that he could make it. He tried to distract himself from his embarrassment and the heat that was quickly building in his backside by thinking through the many, many slow and painful ways he could kill Sam once he had his resources back.

However, it had only been a day since Rafe had been spanked last. He thought he had almost fully recovered overnight, but now his butt was remembering just how much pain it had been in before, and it wasn't taking nearly as long for it to reach those levels again. Not only that, but he was finding that his muscles were still sore and weak from the fight for control over Sully's knee, too. Rafe tensed and tried to stop himself, but soon he couldn't keep his body from squirming and kicking on reflex.

Worse yet, the bruises he had given himself on his face seemed to sympathize with his bottom. The more he moved, the more his blood flowed, and the more his eye began to throb. Instead of distracting him from the spanking, the two areas of hurt seemed to be complementing each other, increasing the pain exponentially with each hit.

That pain, along with his humiliation, muscle exhaustion, and the bitterness that it was _Sam_ doing this to him all funneled down into the formation of one of the worst headaches he'd had in a long time. The accumulation of it all was becoming more than even his stubbornness could handle.

His black eye started leaking tears first, but it didn't take long for his other eye to follow suit. He couldn't stop the sobbing from coming, but he bit his shirt sleeve and pressed his mouth and nose against his arm to at least muffle the sounds. His shoulders shook with the effort of keeping himself contained. Then, with one last futile kick, his body gave up the struggle.

Sam stopped as soon as he felt Rafe collapse. Jesus, it took him damn long enough. He let go of his side and, as gently as he could, tugged his pants back up in place to give him a little dignity back.

That had gone a _lot_ rougher than Sam was expecting. He knew before he started that he wasn't exactly going to _enjoy_ spanking Rafe, but he at least thought he'd feel satisfied that the younger man was getting what he deserved for once in his life.

Now, though, it was getting a lot harder to see Rafe as nothing more than an unfeeling, spoiled, rich brat who thought of other people as disposable and who threw tantrums to get his way. Rafe was _crying_ , and now all Sam could think of was Nathan after he'd gotten himself into deep trouble. Those times had always left Sam with a terrible, sinking feeling in his stomach. Sure, the punishment was deserved, but he still knew that he had caused his little brother a lot of pain, and that always made him feel guilty.

And now his instincts were screaming at him to try and offer some comfort to the younger man. It was too bad 'comfort' had never really been his strong suit.

Sam began to rub circles on his back to calm him down, and right away felt that his shirt was damp with sweat. He frowned. "Rafe, are you alright?"

There wasn't an answer. Rafe hadn't fought him that much once the spanking actually started, so there wasn't any reason for him to be _that_ stressed. He tried to put his hand on Rafe's forehead to feel for a fever, but Rafe shook his hand off and sunk his head further down into the protection that his arms provided.

Sam sighed heavily. Now he was worried that something was really wrong, but he couldn't do anything until Rafe was calmed down. There was only one thing that ever worked with Nate when he was that upset, apart from a large mug of hot cocoa. He carefully grabbed Rafe under the arms and pulled him up, being careful not to put any pressure on his bottom, and he put his arms around him in a hug. "It's over now, brat. Just take deep breaths."

It took Rafe a second to realize what was happening, then his whole body went rigid with shock. He stopped sobbing and just froze. As soon as he recovered, and he shoved against Sam's chest as hard as he could, jumping to his feet and pushing the older Drake down at the same time.

"Don't you _ever._ _Fucking._ _Touch_ me _again!_ " he growled, quickly wiping the tears out of his eyes. " _Get out of my room."_

Sam pushed himself up to sit, unsure what to do about this chain of events. He held up a hand placatingly. "Rafe, calm down…"

" _Get. Out!_ " Rafe yelled it this time, pointing at his door.

"Alright," Sam slowly stood, keeping his hands up like he was backing from a wild animal, "I'm going, there's no need to get all worked up. I wasn't trying to do anything to you, Rafe. I was just trying to help."

Rafe turned his head and focused on the wall, seeing red. If Sam wasn't out of there soon, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from using his fists, and then he'd just end up in trouble again. It would almost be worth it, as long as Sully was the one to 'talk' with him this time.

He heard Sam leave, and when the footsteps reached the end of the hallway he slammed his door shut as hard as he could. He paced his room for a few moments, rubbing his bottom furiously to both work the heat out and vent his pent-up energy. He was still exhausted, though, and even his anger couldn't fuel him for long. He wiped his eyes again, then flopped down on his bed to hide his face in his pillow. He was going to do his best to forget that this whole day even happened.

* * *

Sam walked into the kitchen and flinched when he heard the door slam. He didn't know how things went south so suddenly.

Sully was leaning on the counter by the stove. He had popped a few pain killers after Sam left and they were starting to kick in. Now he was just waiting for the burner to heat up and the water to boil so he could make some tea. He raised a brow at Sam. "That sounded like it didn't end too well."

"That would be because Rafe is a psychopath," Sam complained, walking over to the locked cabinet where they hid the alcohol. He fished in his pocket for the keys.

"Right, of course." The teapot started whistling, so Sully turned the burner off and filled his cup. "So, what did you do?"

"What makes you think _I_ did something?" Sam looked over his shoulder after getting the cabinet unlocked.

Sully glanced at him. "What did you do?" he repeated.

Sam sighed and pulled out a pair of beers, locking the cabinet again when he was done. He snapped one open and took a swig before answering. "He was crying. What was I supposed to do, leave him like that? I just tried to hug him, and he overreacted." The beer wasn't enough, he needed a cigarette too. He put the can on the counter and got one out from his pocket.

"Ah," Sully nodded and dropped a teabag in. Suddenly everything made sense. "Yeah, this one's on you."

"It was a hug, Victor!" It took Sam a few tries to get the lighter working, then he took a deep drag. The nicotine seeped into his lungs and blood system, and almost instantly he felt a soothing calm wash over his nerves. He grabbed his beers and carried them over to the table, then slumped into a chair.

Sully turned towards him. "You thought it was just a hug. He didn't. Didn't I tell you that he was going to interpret everything in a bad light?" He held a hand up before Sam could argue. "Think back to the first time I took my belt to you. You were, what, nineteen? You thought Nate was running drugs while you were at work because you found a bunch of unexplainable cash in his sock drawer-"

"-And after I freaked out and spanked him, I found out he was going door to door for odd jobs and saving up for a present for my birthday," Sam muttered, "Of course I remember, I felt terrible after that. I should have known he wouldn't do something so stupid, but a lot of the kids in the kitchen at the restaurant were into drugs, and I wasn't thinking straight."

"You felt so bad that you asked me to help you with some of the guilt," Sully continued, bringing him back on track, "Because you thought you deserved it."

"And that has nothing to do with anything right now," Sam took a sip of beer, "So why are you bringing it up?"

"Give me a moment and I'll tell you," Sully smirked a little. The Drake family was so goddamned impatient. "You were a pretty big mess after I was done. You probably don't even remember that part, that's how out of it you were. It was the first time I had ever seen you like that; up to that point you had always treated me like a threat, like you thought I was going to hurt Nate or take him from you. You were pretty goddamn pathetic, is what I'm trying to get across here. Now, if I tried to _hug_ you right then in the middle of that mess, would you have taken that kindly?"

Sam looked away, thinking about it. No, he wouldn't have wanted Sully to pity him, and he wouldn't have trusted his motives, either. He had a lot of pride back then. Still did, if he was honest, but not half as much as before. His past self didn't trust or want to depend on anyone for anything. A hug would have been a huge insult. Younger Sam Drake was pretty stupid, thinking back. "Alright, I get your point," he said quietly. "You weren't family, and I wouldn't have liked it at all."

"Not to mention you couldn't pretend that I didn't know you were crying if you were two inches from my face," Sully said wryly.

Sam looked at him skeptically. "What? I didn't cry. You _never_ made me cry."

"Oh yes you did," Sully scoffed, "You cried like a bitch, but no one could blame you. You probably blocked those memories out, it didn't fit the 'tough guy' persona you had going on."

Sam rolled his eyes and took a long drag from his cigarette. "Fine, if that's what you want to think then go ahead. How can I fix what happened with Rafe, though?"

Sully got a spoon and stirred the tea a little, then took the bag out and squeezed it. He added a bit of milk and sugar. "I'll try to take as much edge off of it as I can. Don't worry, he'll get over it eventually." He picked up the mug and smiled at Sam. "For now, I'd give him some space, or you both might have matching shiners."

That said, he left Sam to his vices and walked down the hallway towards Rafe's room.

* * *

Rafe heard a knock on his door, and he barely had time to roll his back towards it before he heard it open. "Sam," he growled, "When I said 'get out', I meant 'stay out'."

"And that's exactly what he's doing," Sully commented, closing the door behind him.

Rafe pushed himself up and turned in surprise. He thought Sully wouldn't want to see him for the rest of the day. Then he realized why he must be there, and he sighed and flopped onto his pillow, keeping an eye on the older man. "Look, I know you want to 'talk' to me, but at least give me a chance to recover. Can't this wait 'til tonight?"

Sully glanced over the kid and frowned a little. Rafe's eyes were red and his face was blotchy, at least where it wasn't bruised. He looked worse for the wear than he had yesterday, although yesterday Sully didn't really see his face until he had completely calmed himself.

He walked towards the bed, offering the tea. "Don't worry, Sam did all the 'talking' you're getting. You're not ever going to be punished for the same thing twice, alright? I just wanted to check in on you and make sure you're ok."

Rafe eyed him suspiciously, then took the mug and slid over, making room for Sully to sit next to him. "Why would you care? Shouldn't you be taking care of yourself instead? You don't smell like vodka."

Sully sat in the offered space and gingerly put a hand on Rafe's back, and when the kid didn't stiffen or protest he began to rub small circles. "I don't need any. No one cares about the bruises on an old man, right?" He smirked a little. "It's not like I have any nice, young ladies to impress around here."

Rafe rolled his eyes and turned his head away, sipping his tea. With everything that had happened, that little cup was heaven. Still, amidst the headache, there was a nagging feeling that wouldn't go away. "For what it's worth, I probably could have hit you harder."

Sully hid a smile. "Oh, yes, I'm sure you could have."

"And I wasn't going to kick you, no matter what Samuel said. You're too old to get kicked in the head. I didn't want to kill you, I just wanted…" He trailed off. He'd feel stupid saying it. To be fair, everything he did in that house made him feel stupid.

Sully ran his hand up and down Rafe's spine. That was probably the closest thing to an apology that he was going to get from the kid. He'd take it. "Don't worry, I got the message. None of this is appreciated. I didn't exactly appreciate being played with either, though," he told him, "But we already talked about that."

He continued to rub Rafe's back for a few moments, letting him drink his tea, then took a deep breath. "We've talked before about how Sam has no tact…"

"I don't want to talk about it," Rafe said quickly, shifting a little to distract himself from what the old man was about to say. He turned his head away from Sully, but now his back was pressed up against Sully's leg.

Sully wondered just how long it would be until he became self-aware of that and pulled away from him. Rafe hadn't tensed up, so he took that as a sign that he could keep rubbing his back, if he wanted to. It wouldn't be _inconvenient_ for the kid. "We should still talk about it. I know he crossed a line with you, and I know why you're upset. But you should know that he didn't even realize that the line was there to start with. He was just treating you like he would have treated Nate. It's the only thing he could think to do."

"I am _not_ his little brother," Rafe said firmly, "I'm not even an _ally_. Tell him to remember that next time. As a matter of fact, make sure there _isn't_ a next time. He's not allowed to sp… To 'discuss' anything with me from now on." He had a long drink from his cup to stop himself from getting worked up again.

Sully shook his head. "I'll tell him not to catch you off guard like that, but he still has as much right to punish you as I do when you break the rules, whether you like it or not. You'll just have to behave if you don't want it to happen, especially if I'm not in the house or I'm busy for some other reason."

Rafe took a deep breath and held it, stiffening up. Sully took that as his cue to remove his hand from his back, and as soon as he did Rafe moved an inch away and resettled when he was no longer making any contact.

Sully's mouth twitched as he suppressed a smirk. Sulking he could deal with; all he needed was a distraction. He stood up. "There's something else I asked them to bring with the drop-off today, and I think now's as good a time as any to give it to you. I'll be right back."

He saw Rafe perk up, then saw him immediately try to hide it. "If it isn't alcohol then I'm not interested," the kid said casually without turning around.

"It's not," Sully told him, "You'll see. Just sit tight." He opened the door and disappeared into the hallway.

Rafe turned his head and watched the door for a moment, then tipped his cup to swallow the rest of his tea. He wasn't going to give in to any curiosity. It probably wasn't anything he cared for, and might even be something else they could use to punish him. He wouldn't put it past them.

Sully reappeared suddenly in the doorframe. "Catch." He tossed something, and a green blur arced over to Rafe's bed.

Rafe tipped to one side to free an arm and caught something round and fuzzy. He looked down to see a tennis ball. His eyes rolled immediately. "You know, I was being facetious yesterday; I didn't really want one."

"Yeah, I know," Sully smirked, "But I figured it couldn't hurt to get it. Maybe it'll keep you from going insane in here. Besides, I wanted to prove a point. I told you that we're not here to make you miserable, so if you need something, anything, ask and we'll get it. And if you just _want_ something, there's a good chance you'll get that too, although maybe with a catch. Alright?"

Rafe nodded thoughtfully, turning the ball over in his hands. Then he threw it at the wall, as best as he could from laying on his side. It bounced and rolled under his bed. "The last thing I want to do is give you a chance to blackmail me," he answered. "But I guess I should thank you for the opportunity."

Sully didn't argue. Rafe wouldn't believe him until he actually tested it, and he was sure that he'd be trying soon. He wasn't going to worry about it.

"That's all up to you. Do you want some more tea, or are you good for now?" he asked.

Rafe gave Sully a wry, pointed look. "I'm as good as I'm gonna get, apparently."

"Good," Sully grinned and walked over to take his mug from him. "Don't worry about the dishes from lunch, they'll get taken care of. Just rest for now. I'll come and get you if you're not out before dinner."

"Yeah, yeah," Rafe mumbled. He eyed Sully. "Thanks, Victor."

"Anytime, kiddo."

Sully was immediately graced with a scowl. He chuckled and left him alone, closing the door behind him.


	7. Chapter Seven

When Sully returned to the kitchen, the stove was on with a stock pot of water set to boil. Sam had already finished his beers and was back on his feet, mutilating a chicken carcass and separating the good meat out from the rest.

If he was being honest with himself, the act of trying to comfort Rafe and having it backfire on him was making Sam feel like shit, and his new perspective on the younger man was trying to reconcile itself with the previous one. He was going to cook until both of those problems went away.

Sully took in the site, and his focus locked on several vegetables that were out on the counter waiting to be cleaned and chopped. "Sam," he spoke cautiously, "Please tell me that _you're_ not on the goddamned health wagon too."

"Oh, you're back." Sam looked up from the chicken for just a second, then returned to trimming it. "Relax, I'm making soup. I figure if I start from scratch and keep it fresh, a certain brat won't be able to complain about it. He might even like it and stop sulking for five minutes." Part of him still wasn't convinced that Rafe wasn't getting sick, but even if it _was_ just a reaction from the spanking then soup would help him feel better anyway. Soup made everything better. "If you want, I can fry up a sandwich to go with it, because God forbid that you eat a vegetable."

Sully snorted in response. "I wasn't raised to be a rabbit. That sort of life just ain't worth living." Vegetables in soup was something he could manage, at least, as long as Sam didn't make a habit of hiding them in _everything_.

He put Rafe's mug away in the sink, noting that it was empty. All of the dishes from lunch had already been cleaned and were sitting in the drain drying. Sully looked over the rest of the kitchen and saw that everything had been fastidiously wiped down and straightened up. If Sam had done all that _and_ started soup in the short time he had been talking with Rafe, that meant something was bothering him.

"Look, Sam," he started, "Rafe is going to get over it. You just caught him by surprise; he's not used to that sort of thing."

"Oh, I get that," Sam replied, "Knowing him, I'll either get the silent treatment or 'business client' treatment for the rest of the day. I'm not worried."

Sully smirked a little at the description. "Yeah, you're probably right about that. Want to tell me what _is_ wrong, then, or should I let you scrub the bathroom first?"

"Ha. Funny." Sam began tossing the bones, fats, and organs he had removed from the chicken into the pot of water. "Nothing's wrong, Victor. 'Quit mother-henning'."

Sully rolled his eyes, but dropped the subject. Sam had always been the type to keep things to himself, and he wasn't going to intrude. "How's the nose doing?" he asked instead.

Sam smirked and looked over his shoulder. "That still counts as mother-henning. But it's doing fine. The bruises he gave me on my side are worse- do you know how many times I've accidentally bumped them against things? Too many." He walked to the sink to wash his hands, then opened a drawer and took out a knife. "Here, why don't you make yourself useful? Those potatoes need to be cleaned and diced."

"Well, I'll be go to hell," Sully feigned astonishment as he took it, "You actually trust me to help you cook?"

"You were in the navy. I figure if you learned how to do anything there, it's prepping potatoes." Sam returned to the stove and began throwing herbs into the broth.

"Yeah, yeah. Very funny, smartass." Sully grabbed the indicated potatoes and carried them to the sink to begin washing.

* * *

Over an hour had passed since the incident, and Rafe finally managed to recompose himself. He was still indignant over everything, but he could at least control his outward expressions, and if he could do that then he could face the other two members of the house. After all, it didn't matter how he actually felt; what mattered was how _they_ thought he felt. If he wanted to be taken seriously then he couldn't be squirming all over the damned place, looking like a rueful, punished child. Hopefully he'd have a little more control over sitting still than yesterday, since he'd had some practice with it. His ass hurt more the second time around, but he would have to deal with it. One way or another, he'd preserve his dignity through the year.

He jumped a little when he heard a knock on the door, jarring him out of his thoughts. "It's me, kid," Sully called through, "Dinner's ready."

Rafe suppressed a groan. "Fine, I'll be right out." If he hesitated now, it would give the impression that he was intimidated by being around them. He wasn't going to hide.

He pushed himself up off his bed and looked down at the sweatpants Sully had tempted him with yesterday. They were more enticing today, compared to the coarseness of the cheap jeans he'd been provided with, but they'd also be an admission of defeat. He kicked the offending pants under his bed to get them out of his mind. Then he took a breath to brace himself and opened the door to the hallway.

Sam was at the stove when Rafe walked into the kitchen, grilling some unholy concoction of butter, bacon grease, and cheese. It smelled disgusting, and Rafe quickly crossed to the other side of the table where he'd be farthest from it. Sully was standing next to Sam, ladling something that looked a bit more appetizing into a bowl.

He chose a seat where he could keep an eye on both of them. When he pulled the chair out from the table and looked down, he immediately froze in indignation.

Sam saw Rafe bristling up from the corner of his eye and cleared his throat to get his attention. He knew _exactly_ what the problem was. "We decided to get cushions for all the chairs in the last drop-off," he explained, as casually as he could, "The chairs are refurbished, so they have some rough spots we haven't gotten around to sanding and re-varnishing yet. Might as well be comfortable while we eat, right?"

Rafe looked sharply at him as he digested the explanation. Then he abruptly nodded, visibly relaxing again, and gently sat down on the chair. "Aren't you used to refurbished? I would have thought you'd be right at home."

"Cute." Sam rolled his eyes and flipped the sandwich onto a plate. "You keep smart-assing about me being poor and I might just take those away- _I'm_ fine without 'em."

"Rafe, you want something to drink?" Sully interrupted before anything escalated. The two of them seemed to be getting along as well as they ever did, which wasn't saying much. If he had to guess, they were both content to pretend the hug never happened, and were compensating by being extra abrasive. "More tea, or something cold?"

"I'll take some more tea," Rafe answered, choosing to ignore Sam's comment. Reacting would just encourage him. "Without sugar this time."

"Sure, kid." Sully placed the bowl he had just filled in front of Rafe, then went to put the teapot on.

Sam stepped around Sully, carrying two more bowls that he set out on the table, then he moved the sandwich next to one of them. "There's salt and pepper by the oven if you want any," he told Rafe, "But this should be fine without 'em."

Rafe looked down, eyeing the soup warily; he remembered seeing some sketchy cans in the pantry, and he didn't want anything to do with them. This didn't _look_ like one of those preserved nightmares, though. "What brand is this?"

"That," Sam smirked and sat down across from him, "Is Drake brand soup. It's made from scratch, so there's nothing extra in it that you need to worry about."

Rafe picked up his spoon and stirred, looking for stray bits of fat or bone or anything else that might be questionable. "All of it's homemade? What kind of stock did you use?"

"I made that too," Sam answered. "What do you want, a list of ingredients?"

Rafe wrapped his mind around that. He _did_ do a good job with the lobster last night. "No," he decided, "If I die, I die. It can't get much worse than living here."

"That's the kind of attitude you need for Victor's cooking, not mine," Sam said, "Just try it."

"I'll try not to get offended," Sully muttered. He had a mug out and was getting a teabag from a cupboard, so he couldn't give Sam a proper Look to make him feel guilty- not that it would actually work.

Rafe eyed Sam with mistrust, and for a moment he considered refusing to eat it. If he had really put as much effort into this soup as he claimed, then not even trying it would be the ultimate 'fuck you' to Sam. But, as appealing as that thought was, the soup smelled good and he was hungry. There was no point in starving himself; he'd need to keep his strength up while living here, and he didn't know if he'd be allowed an alternative if he didn't want what they cooked. He scooped up a small amount and tasted it.

The was surprisingly flavorful, and when he took a bigger sip he could feel warmth spreading down his throat to his stomach and out through his chest. There were plenty of things he could complain about in this house, but the food- aside from the lack of it when he first got there- was not one of them. "It'll do," he commented and continued eating.

"Good, as long as you can choke it down."

The teapot began whistling. Sully poured a cup and carried it, along with the cream carton, over to Rafe. "Here you go, kid." Then he settled down in his chair to finally enjoy his meal.

Rafe looked at the sandwich, with its cheese and grease dripping onto the plate, and resolved not to glance in its direction again lest he get clogged arteries just from the sight of it. He'd rather go through another discussion than have to put something like that in his mouth. It was just more proof that the old man was crazy.

He managed to make it through dinner without noticeably squirming, thanks to the cushions. He had to admit, they were nice to have, but he'd never say it out loud- not that he was saying much to begin with. He was content to eat and ignore whatever the other two were prattling on about. The faster he ate, the sooner he could get away from them.

When his bowl was empty, Rafe stood up to carry it to the sink. He saw the lunch dishes in the drying rack and remembered what Sully said earlier. "Am I supposed to wash the dishes tonight?"

"No," both men answered at the same time, despite never actually talking about it.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of them," Sam continued after a pause, "You just relax." Then he eyed Rafe. "You know, there _is_ plenty more for seconds. Eat as much as you want."

Rafe shook his head. He wasn't going to overfill himself. "That was enough. I'm not hungry anymore."

"Are you sure?" Sully frowned. "You haven't been eating much, kid. And that was only soup…"

"Soup can be a meal, Victor," Sam spoke up, "It's got everything you need in it."

"But there's no _substance_ to it," Sully protested.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Trust me, he'll be fine. Not everyone has your appetite."

"Is that the procedure?" Rafe interrupted before they got too far. It wasn't up to _them_ to decide when _he_ was full. "Whenever there's a discussion, I'm not expected to do any chores?"

"If you get spanked bad enough, yeah," Sam answered. "We're not going to make you do anything after that."

Sully sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, expecting another temper explosion from Rafe. They had _just_ talked about tact last night. "Sam…"

"What? We've both spanked him now, Victor, we all know it happens. What good does playing word games do? Or letting him stay in denial?" As far as Sam was concerned, the sooner Rafe came to terms with what was happening, the sooner he'd start cooperating. Calling it a discussion was just going to make it easier for him to ignore rather than learn from it.

Sully took a deep breath. "We'll talk about it later." He glanced at Rafe to determine his reaction. The kid was surprisingly calm, regarding Sam as if he was a lowly intern who had spoken out of line, then he looked back at Sully and cocked his head, waiting for an answer.

"It depends on how serious the talk is," Sully responded, carefully choosing his words. "Something like what you just went through, where you need time to lay down and… consider… all the points that were brought up, no, we won't make you do any chores. If it's only a short talk then there's no reason why you can't do them afterwards."

Rafe raised a brow. "That means not every discussion is going to be as long as the two I've had so far?"

"That's right," Sully confirmed, "It all depends on what you do, kid. The punishment will match the crime. We won't overreact to you doing something petty."

Rafe turned it over in his mind and nodded. That changed some things. He was going to have to re-strategize. He cleared his throat and straightened up. "If you don't need anything from me, then I'm going back to my room. I'd appreciate it if I was left alone for the night."

"Of course." Sully watched as Rafe walked down the hallway, not looking at either of them, and disappeared in his room.

Sam raised a brow once he heard the door close. "Well, that was formal. Either he's going to go plot our demise or he's going to 'review a stimulus package', though I don't know where he'd get the material for _that_ unless you've been hiding something from me."

Sully chuckled. "If I was, do you think I'd share? No, I'd say he's trying to cope. He's going to need time for his ego to recover after today."

"Yeah, sure," Sam scoffed. "I don't think anything can damage _that_ for very long."

"I don't know if I'd bet on that." Sully munched on a bite of his sandwich. "Insisting on the word 'spanked', for instance…"

Sam held a hand up. "I'm not calling him out on having a sore ass, Victor, I'm just saying what happens."

"I know," Sully said, "But you really need to wait for him to warm up to you first; right now he's just going to think you're rubbing it in his face. If you wait for him to stop seeing you as an enemy, _then_ maybe he won't get insulted when you say it."

"Something tells me I'm going to be waiting for a while, then," Sam commented drily, but he could see Sully's point. He _still_ didn't like catering to Rafe's denial, but having Rafe think he was lording it over him wasn't going to help things either. "Alright, I'll keep talking in code for now, if that's what you want."

"It is," Sully confirmed, "Thank you."

* * *

Rafe woke up the next morning at the first sounds of stirring from Sam's room. Last night, instead of sleeping on his bed, he had tossed his pillow and a blanket on the floor. Laying on a hard surface would keep him from going into a deep sleep, so that any sounds he heard would wake him up. He had been there for a few days now, and it was about time for him to learn the schedules of the other two occupants and what they did when he was locked in his room. He could handle a little discomfort if it meant keeping himself informed, especially if he learned anything that he could take advantage of.

Besides, this morning he had to be up at the same time Sam was, before he started cooking. In the moments he hadn't been sleeping, he'd come up with a plan to make his stay there a _little_ more bearable.

He heard Sam bumbling around in his room for a little bit, then a door opened and the older Drake shuffled to the bathroom across the hall. The faint scent of smoke wafted into Rafe's room, making him grimace. Smoking? _Already?_ That man was a walking cancer campaign.

He forced himself to sit up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. To his dismay, his ass was still sore from yesterday- worse than the morning after his _first_ discussion- and he wasn't sure if it was because his body hadn't gotten enough rest to heal properly or just because it was assaulted two days in a row. Whatever the cause, it didn't matter. As long as he didn't get spanked _again_ then it should be back to normal by the end of the day. He got to his feet and threw the blanket and pillow back on his bed, then waited for the click of the lock that told him he was free to leave his room again.

Sam flushed and left the bathroom, unlocking Rafe's door as he passed it in the hallway. When he reached the kitchen, he washed his hands and set up the coffee pot. By the time it was done brewing, he'd be finished with his morning cigarette. He had it down to a science by now.

During his morning piss, he decided that today he was going to try his hand at making breakfast burritos. There were plenty of ways to keep those healthy for Rafe, and cheese and bacon could cover up those same healthy aspects for Sully. It was a good thing he had mastered the art of vegetable-hiding when Nathan was still a pre-teen, though he never thought he'd be using it on a man _technically_ old enough to be his father.

He wouldn't have to worry about prepping for a while, since everyone else would be asleep for at least another two hours. Besides, coffee came first. He was going to enjoy that before doing anything else.

All thoughts were interrupted when he heard a cough out of nowhere and nearly had a heart attack. "Jesus, Rafe," Sam glared over at the source, who had seemingly materialized in the kitchen entrance, "I didn't even hear you walk in. What are you doing up?" And why was he being so damned sneaky? It was too early in the morning for the brat to be acting this creepy.

"I could ask you the same question," Rafe retorted, keeping his tone guarded, " _You_ don't get locked in your room at ten, so you have no reason to be waking up at six."

Sam stabbed out his cigarette, recovering from the start. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. "Oh, you know, it's just one of those habits you get when you've been in jail the past thirteen years or so."

"Yeah? Well, coincidentally, it's also a good habit to have when you've been in the business your whole life." Rafe walked to the fridge. "I want yogurt for breakfast, so if you were planning on making me something, don't."

"That's all?" Sam watched him, "Are you sure? Yogurt's not a lot."

"It's all I want," Rafe answered. He took the yogurt container out and set it on the counter. "Did you even listen to what you told the old man last night, or do you just like being difficult?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yogurt's not soup, but fine, if you say it's enough then it's enough. Don't expect me to make you anything later if you get hungry again."

"I wasn't going to ask you to."

So much for breakfast burritos. There was no point in making them if Rafe wasn't going to have any- the recipe would be wasted on Sully. He would make them another day. Instead, he decided to go with biscuits and gravy; with Victor, anything that had the word 'gravy' involved was a safe bet.

He heard the coffee pot bubbling, so he grabbed a mug and filled it. "There's plenty more if you want some," he commented as he took a sip. Then he set his on the counter and went over to the pantry to unlock it. The peace and quiet he usually enjoyed in the morning was already disrupted, so he might as well start prepping breakfast while he drank.

Rafe took out a bowl and a spoon, then opened the container. He filled the bowl halfway, watching Sam out of the corner of his eye. "Grab me some walnuts while you're in there. And raisins."

"I didn't think anyone younger than sixty actually enjoyed eating those," Sam commented. "You know, we do have some frozen berries that'd probably taste better."

"I remember what we have," Rafe replied bluntly, "And I know what I want."

"Alright, if you're sure." Sam came out with the requested items and set them on the counter, then went back to the pantry for the various ingredients he'd need for biscuits and the roux.

Rafe took his time sprinkling the nuts and raisins over his yogurt, making sure that they were spread out and even. When everything was satisfactory, he put the yogurt away, then carried his bowl and spoon to the table. He grabbed a mug so he could pour himself some coffee to go with it. Finally, he sat down and began eating, going slowly and keeping an eye on Sam.

The kitchen was silent, the only sound coming from Sam making dough. Rafe waited until he was kneading and had his fingers covered with the stuff before speaking up. "You know what this is missing? Honey."

"Well, if you want me to get it for you, you're going to have to wait a minute," Sam said wryly. "My hands are full."

"Or I could just get it for myself," Rafe pushed his chair back and stood, "I remember where it is."

Sam hesitated. The whole point of locking the food in the pantry was so Rafe couldn't sabotage any of it, so he wasn't keen on the idea of letting him in there unsupervised. But, really, what could the brat do in thirty seconds? "Fine, but don't make a mess in there."

Rafe narrowed his eyes and made sure to put as much disdain in his voice as was physically possible. "I wasn't planning on it, but now that you've said something I think I should."

"Cute. Just get it before I change my mind."

Rafe stood straight and walked into the pantry. Instead of grabbing the honey right away, he scanned the top shelf looking for something he had seen while making a list with Sully. Once he found it he quickly palmed it and slipped it into his pocket. The next thing he needed was a Ziploc bag. It only took him a few more seconds to spot those and tuck one into his other pocket. When he was sure that they were hidden enough and Sam wouldn't suspect anything, he finally grabbed the honey jar and carried it out into the kitchen.

He felt Sam's eyes on him as he exited the pantry, and he ignored them completely. After a moment, Sam went back to concentrating on his dough. Rafe set the jar of honey on the table, got a clean spoon, and sat down. He scooped a generous amount of the golden liquid onto his yogurt, then another, even more generous amount, and continued to do so without restraint.

By the time Sam looked at him again, the jar was a third of the way empty and honey was running down his bowl and spreading out onto the table.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"Oh, sorry," Rafe smiled innocently at Sam now that he _finally_ had his attention, then he plopped another dollop of honey on top of his bowl. "Looks like I accidentally made a mess."

Sam stared at him for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to do, then shook his head. "Nope, I'm not dealing with this." He quickly washed dough from his hands, wiped them dry on his pants, then went down the hallway towards Sully's room.

Rafe inhaled sharply. It was now or never. He took the bag out from his pocket and began to fill it with honey from the jar, being careful not to spill any down the sides. He didn't need a lot for his plan, and the small amount shouldn't be a noticeable difference compared to how much he wasted on just getting Sam out of the room.

Rafe heard Sam knock on Sully's door, and a second later he heard it open up as the older Drake barged in. He sealed the bag shut while listening to what was going on.

"Sam, you have three seconds to get out of here before I kick your goddamned ass…" Sully sounded like a bear that had just been forced out of hibernation and was very pissed off about it. Rafe would have to remember to never wake him up early for anything.

"Oh, no you don't, Victor. You don't get to sleep while Rafe's being a brat, "Sam said, almost sweetly, then his voice turned sour, "You need to get up and take care of it."

There was a pause. Rafe tucked the bag between his waistband and his side, and pulled his shirt down over top of it. He was still in pajama pants, which shouldn't put enough pressure on it to burst, and hopefully he'd be sent to his room before any 'discussions' took place so he could remove it. If not, it was on the side, and he'd just have to be careful not to roll over it. The last thing he needed was having to explain a sudden explosion of honey in his pants.

Sully seemed to have found his clock. "It's not even seven in the goddamned morning, how the _hell_ -"

"He's innovative. Now get up, trust me when I say you _don't_ want me to handle this."

There was a heavy sigh. "Alright, alright, give me a goddamn minute to get dressed."

The door closed again, and Rafe sat back patiently as he heard Sam returning. He put a smirk on his face and folded his hands in front of him, keeping them clear of the honey puddle. He had no desire to be sticky for the rest of the morning.

Sam eyed the mess as he walked in. "I hope you're pleased with yourself because _that_ is not going to be easy to clean," he commented as he went back to the biscuits.

Rafe shrugged. "I hope you didn't need any honey for a while. _I'm_ fine without it."

Sam bristled for a second, but didn't reply. His palm was getting very, very itchy.

A few minutes later Sully came down the hallway with a robe on. It took him one glance to assess the situation. He looked at Rafe. "You want to tell me what happened?"

"I like a little honey with my yogurt," Rafe answered casually. "Samuel seems to think I used too much."

"A little bit, yeah. You tell me not to treat you like a child then you go and do this," Sully muttered and grabbed a paper towel, then went to the sink to wet it. "You need to make up your goddamned mind, kid."

"Maybe being treated like a child just makes me act more like a child," Rafe retorted, crossing his arms. "I'm only responding to what I'm given."

"Right, because making a mess and wasting the food we got you because you asked for it is a normal reaction." Sully grabbed the spoon and scooped excess honey from Rafe's yogurt bowl, just so nothing else would drip down the sides, and picked it up to wipe the exterior. He placed it on the other side of the table and wiped down the honey jar next. "Clean up the rest of your mess, and then you're going to eat every goddamn spoonful of honey left in your bowl. You're not leaving the kitchen until you do. And you've just lost the privilege to prepare or add anything to your food, even if you only want a glass of water. Sam or I'll do it for you. You got that?"

Rafe hesitated for a split second, then plastered a fake smile on his face. "Fine. Am I allowed to get up to get a sponge to clean the table, or was that not allowed?" Inside, he was fighting to keep his temper. Having to ask someone to take care of his food was not one of the consequences he was expecting, and it was fucking patronizing. Still, if his plan worked, the benefits would outweigh this set-back, so he was able to keep calm.

"Don't worry, I'll get you one." Sully threw the paper towel away and grabbed a clean sponge that Rafe could use.

Rafe stood up and dragged the trash can over to the table so he could wipe most of the honey straight into it, humming to himself as he did so. He didn't want either of them thinking that cleaning actually bothered him, and the less he seemed to care the more annoyed they'd be. Then he took the sponge and wiped down the top and the sides where the honey had spread. The good thing about honey was that it's water soluble, so he only had to rinse and re-wipe the table a few times before Sully was satisfied with the job.

After that he sat back down with his bowl of what was now a half-honey-half-yogurt blend. He wasn't looking forward to putting that much sugar in his body, but he wasn't going to back down. He forced himself to eat, going slowly to 'savor' the cloyingly sweet breakfast. Sully sat on the other side of the table with his arms crossed- apparently,he wasn't a morning person.

When he finally finished and was able to leave, Rafe excused himself to take a shower. Aside from some minor inconveniences, that went better than he planned. Sam was correct, he was _very_ pleased with himself right now.


	8. Chapter Eight

Rafe walked down the hallway, feeling much fresher now that he had a shower and a shave. Any effects of sleep deprivation he'd been feeling earlier were gone, and his body felt less sore overall. For the first time since he got there, he was in a pretty good mood.

Sam and Sully were still at the table when he entered the kitchen, eating some congealed mass of meat and fat and biscuits. He didn't look too closely.

"There he is," Sam commented when he saw him, then glanced at the clock. "Are you sure you're clean enough? You were only in there for an hour."

"I don't tell you how to shower, do I?" Rafe responded, "Even though it's clearly a foreign concept to you."

"You want a foreign concept? I'll give you a few," Sam held up two fingers, "Well water, and limited capacity heaters. We don't have a magical tap that never runs out of hot water here."

"If you're worried about that, then you'll be happy to know that I don't take scalding hot showers, they're bad for your skin," Rafe told him. "Not that it's any of your business. There should be plenty left for your five minutes of whatever you do in there."

"That still doesn't mean you can take an _hour_ ," Sam reiterated. "We're limited to collected rain water, unless you want to start bathing in the ocean, or relying on Shoreline to get here with a tank. Neither of those sound like good options to me."

Rafe took a deep breath. No, he wasn't going to let Sam ruin his mood. "If that was a concern, then maybe you should have chosen an island with an underground spring," he said, "Or invested in a desalination treatment pump. Really, I don't know why I wasn't consulted for any of this. There are a lot of oversights I could have avoided."

"Those 'oversights' just have to do with using our resources responsibly," Sam shook his head. "You're a businessman. You have to have _some_ concept of budgeting."

"There's smart budgeting, and there's being stringent," Rafe stated, then he turned towards Sully, ending the conversation. The old man looked like the only reason he was still awake was because there was food in front of him, and the walk back to his room was too long for an empty stomach. He smiled politely. "I've had enough of being cooped up in the house, so I'm going to take a walk. Do you have shoes for me somewhere, or should I get the ones I arrived with?"

Sully gestured towards the living room. "There's a coat closet across from the door in there. Look on the top shelf, you'll see a couple boxes. We got shoes and sandals for you."

Rafe nodded and looked in the living room. _Technically_ that was where the front door was, but he'd never actually seen anyone _use_ it yet; everything was done through the kitchen entrance. He stepped into the room and crossed over to the door.

"Do you want some company on your walk?" Sully called out to him.

"Only if that's your way of telling me I need someone to come with me," Rafe answered. He found the closet and opened the door. Somehow, it wasn't as disastrous as he was expecting. He guessed that it didn't get much use- the coats hanging inside didn't even smell like smoke- so it never got the chance to turn into a mess.

"No," Sully answered, then yawned, "Like I said, there's not much you can get up to out there. Just remember, kid, you got around four hours until lunch, and you still have dishes to wash. Don't make us come looking for you."

"I wouldn't make you do anything, Sully." Rafe pulled one of the boxes down and opened it. He grimaced and immediately shoved it back up. No, he was _not_ going to be seen by _anyone_ wearing those sandals. He reached for the other box, hoping the shoes would be a bit more tasteful. There was a simple pair of sneakers inside, not even name brand, but at least they fit and didn't look like something from Amish Country. He was going to have to ask Sully for better ones on the next supply drop.

He put them on and tied them tightly, then opened the front door and left without a word.

* * *

Rafe returned three and a half hours later, having buried all evidence that he took anything from the pantry at all. He didn't need to spend all that time out there, but he figured that it was the longest amount of time he could be away without facing any consequences when he got back. Besides, he had sand in his shoes from the walk, so he _wanted_ to go inside anyway. He walked around the house to the front door, the proper way to enter a house, and pushed it open.

When he stepped inside, Sam was in the living room and Sully was nowhere to be seen.

Rafe opened the closet and kicked his shoes in. "Where's the old man?"

"He went back to sleep after we finished eating," Sam answered. He didn't even need to look up from the book he was reading. "There's a shoe rack in there, use it."

"That wasn't on my list of chores, sorry," Rafe shut the door and threw Sam a fake smile.

"No, but 'respect the property' is one of the rules," Sam glanced up, "Did you want to _talk_ about that?"

Rafe's smile faltered for a second, then returned in full force. "Then again, Sully's clearly gone senile; I wouldn't want him to wander in there and break a hip." He opened the door and bent down to put them away correctly.

"That's the spirit," Sam looked back at his book. "Did you enjoy your walk?"

"It got me away from you, so yes, I'd say it was very enjoyable." Rafe remarked, then straightened up and walked towards the kitchen. "Are you planning on making something for lunch?"

"Not really," Sam answered, "I was just going to reheat some soup. Why?"

"If you're not making anything, that means these dishes don't have to be done until dinner. You won't need the sink."

Sam smirked. "Nice try, but that's not how it works. You have them ready so I have the _option_ to cook with a clean sink, it doesn't mean I will. Besides, if you leave them in there too long, the kitchen will start to smell. I thought you were all about hygiene."

"Not when it's a waste of my time," Rafe muttered to himself, but he knew he wasn't going to win this argument and he sure as hell didn't want Sully waking up to the sounds of Sam smacking his ass. He turned the faucet on and waited for it to get hot. The pots and pans Sam had used earlier were already cleaned and set on the stove to dry, so Rafe had room in the dish drain for his portion. He let the water run an unnecessarily long amount of time, just to annoy Sam, then he picked up the sponge and began to wash.

Halfway through, Sam got up from his book and came in the kitchen to check on his progress. "No," he shook his head after looking through the dishes that had been 'washed'. "Rafe, half of these aren't even done yet, I can see the grease from here. Remember what I told you about feeling them to see if they're clean?"

"Fuck off, Sam," Rafe responded evenly.

"Could you at least _try_ to wash them the right way?" Sam reached over to start putting the dirty ones back in the sink.

"I _am_ trying," Rafe growled and pushed Sam's hand away. "At least let me _finish_ first."

"You're not finishing anything if you're only doing half the job."

Rafe threw his sponge into the sink and stepped back. He had a strong urge to punch Sam, and he was trying hard to control it; he didn't need a discussion for the third day in a row, and he wasn't going to put himself in the corner to calm down. His fist clenched, then he forced it to relax again. He wasn't going to hit, but he had to do _something._

The pans on the stove caught his eye, and he reached for one. It was a better-quality pan that Sam had used every day so far, so it wasn't a stretch to think that it was one of his favorites. He turned back towards the older Drake with the pan held over his head. "Back off," he glared, "Or I swear to God, I will slam this into the floor as hard as I can."

Sam eyed him for a moment. Then he calmly opened a drawer, took something out, and laid it on the counter. He crossed his arms and leaned back, looking back at Rafe.

Rafe frowned, confused, and lowered the pan in front of him while he tried to make sense of it. "What… Why did you do that?"

Sam raised a brow. "Why do you think?"

"I have no idea," Rafe answered.

"If you break that pan, what do you think is going to happen?"

Rafe looked at him sharply, the implication dawning on him. "Sam, that's a spoon."

"A wooden spoon, yeah."

"That's unhygienic."

Sam couldn't keep from smirking. Rafe was a lot more naïve in the discipline area than he thought, and he wasn't expecting much to begin with. "You won't care much about hygiene once I start using it."

"But it's a _spoon_ ," Rafe couldn't even begin to grasp the logic behind it. "Why would you use a spoon?"

Sam shrugged. "Throw the pan and find out."

Rafe eyed him, then lifted the pan over his head again. "Go back to your book and let me finish washing the dishes. When I'm done, _then_ you can come out and tell me which ones I need to redo. Just let me get through this part in peace, alright?"

Sam thought it over, then nodded and put the spoon away. "Okay. Don't get upset with me if I tell you to do them all over again, though."

"I won't." Rafe lowered the pan and set it back on the stove. He waited for Sam to leave the room before doing anything else. Once he was by himself again, he looked through the dishes in the drain to find the ones Sam was talking about and put them back in the sink. Then he picked up the sponge and restarted the annoying process of washing them.

Twenty minutes passed, along with two more bouts of re-washing, before Sam was finally satisfied with the cleaning job. Rafe washed his hands, feeling like after all the grease he had been forced to touch, that they'd never be clean again.

When he was done, he looked over at Sam, who was standing nearby after the final inspection. "Get me some water to drink."

Sam raised a brow. "No."

Rafe paused and turned fully towards Sam, crossing his arms in a matching stance. "I can't get it myself, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," Sam confirmed, "Ask me nicely and then I'll be happy to get it for you."

Rafe glared at him for a full thirty seconds, not saying anything. Sam was _not_ the person to be lecturing _him_ on manners.

Sam matched the stare. "I'm waiting," he said after a moment, "Feel free to ask anytime."

Rafe shook his head and turned towards the cupboard. "I'm getting it myself." He opened it up and reached for a glass.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, especially if you don't want to find out what's so special about the spoon," Sam commented, keeping his tone casual.

Rafe glared at him and put it back. "Yeah, like I'm going to give you that satisfaction. Never mind, I'm not as thirsty as I thought I was."

"Fine with me." Sam stood up straight and walked towards the living room.

Rafe narrowed his eyes, watching him. He was tempted to just get the drink anyway, now that Sam's back was turned, but he knew that it would only end badly. Sam was just looking for an excuse to assert his authority after this morning.

He chose to forget the drink and go to his room, where he wouldn't have to be around Sam anymore, and walked to the hallway. Just as he was about to open his door, another one opened and Sully stepped out, accompanied by the choking smell of cigar smoke that permeated his room.

"Ah, good morning, kid," Sully smiled. "You're back."

"I am," Rafe eyed him. "It's almost noon, Sullivan."

If having his full name thrown at him bothered Sully, he didn't show it. "Technically still the A.M.," he smirked, then he reached out to pat Rafe on his shoulder. "Look kid, I'm not the nicest person when I wake up too early. I may have been a bit grumpier than I should have been this morning."

Rafe shrugged the hand off. "I hadn't noticed," he said. "You seemed your usual, charming self. Does this mean that I can get my own food again?"

"No," Sully answered, "You were still being a royal pain, and you have to deal with the consequences for that. I'm just saying that I could've handled it a bit better. If you want to avoid getting snapped at, plan your stunts for the afternoon. It's not good to poke the sleeping bear."

Rafe fought the urge to roll his eyes. He wondered if the old man knew exactly what he was implying with that phrase- probably not, considering his reputation with the women.

He glanced back at the kitchen, then inclined his head and smiled. "If you say so, Sully," he said, speaking loud enough so Sam could hear, "If that's still the case, could you please get me a glass of water?"

Sully looked a little puzzled, but agreed. "Certainly. You don't have to speak up, I'm not deaf yet, you know. Want me to bring it to your room?"

"Yes, please," Rafe confirmed, then opened his door. "And thank you."

* * *

It wasn't long after Rafe got his water that he was called back to the kitchen for lunch. He groaned to himself before opening the door to the hallway; he _just_ escaped from being in the same room as Sam, and now he had to go through it again. Still, he wasn't going to hide in his room and let them think they were getting to him.

Sully was already at the table with a bowl of re-heated soup and something fried that Rafe didn't look at long enough to figure out what it was. He didn't need ulcers before turning forty.

Sam was ladling a bowl of soup for himself. He glanced over at Rafe when he heard him step in. "You can have soup or you can have a salad," he told him. "And if you want a salad, let me know what you want on it."

Rafe thought about it for a moment. After being outside, he wanted something refreshing. "Almonds, carrots, tomatoes, dried fruit." He paused, thinking, then held up a finger. "Vinaigrette."

"I still didn't hear a please," Sam commented, but he let it slide. "Do you want cucumbers too? Or a boiled egg?"

"Yes to cucumbers, no to the egg," Rafe answered, choosing to ignore the first part.

Sam shook his head and put his bowl on the table, then went to the fridge so he could start putting the salad together.

Rafe walked around Sully and pulled a chair out so he could sit down, then he set his glass in front of the older man. "Refill?"

"Sure. What do you want to drink?" Sully asked.

"Water," Rafe answered. "It's the only drinkable thing in there."

Sully grabbed his glass and stood. "If you wanted something else, you should have asked for it when we went over the inventory."

"You're assuming that I'd want some store-bought crap," Rafe leaned back in his seat. "That stuff does more harm than good."

"Oh, of course," Sully smirked to himself. "I guess that means the juice we have is a no-go. What's the alternative, then?"

"Easy. Chop up some lemons and cucumbers, put those in a pitcher with some mint leaves," Rafe answered. "Or, you know, it's hot enough outside. You could make some sun-brewed tea and throw it on ice."

"You'd rather drink vegetable water than juice?" Sully wrinkled his nose. "What the hell is sun-brewed tea? If you want iced tea, we can just buy some, or get a mix."

Rafe grimaced. "That's not real tea. That's cancer in powdered form."

"We can make something after lunch," Sam spoke up. "There should be a big enough container we can keep it in somewhere around here. You'll have to help me with the specifics, though."

Rafe frowned, weighing the costs and benefits of having something better to drink verses spending time around Sam. Overall, it shouldn't take more than ten minutes to do. "I suppose that wouldn't kill me."

"Good," Sam said. "What a tough guy, being able to mix things with water without keeling over."

Rafe rolled his eyes, but didn't take the bait. It wasn't worth it.

Sully smirked and set the glass of water on the table. At least, in a way, they were getting along. "So, kid, did you enjoy your walk? Not a bad place to be stranded, right?"

"Not bad at all," Rafe agreed and took a sip from his glass. "A little warm, maybe, but I can't complain. The eastern Mediterranean is always a bit hot this time of year."

Sam looked up from the salad he was mixing and eyed Sully uncertainly, but Sully just chuckled. "So, you figured out where we are, hm? Not a bad guess, kid."

Rafe shrugged. "I saw the Cyprus trees. It didn't take much figuring out after that. I'm just not sure if we're in the Greek part or the Italian part, not that it matters. There are a lot of private islands around both, and people know not to disturb them. I was thinking of buying one for myself, actually, before I bought that cathedral."

"Well, you can always have this one when the year is up," Sully smirked. "I don't think Shoreline will get much use from it afterwards."

"Sure," Rafe nodded, "I'd like to obliterate it from the map. How much extra do you think I'd have to pay for you and Sam to still be on it?"

Sully smoothed down his mustache in thought. "Speaking for myself, just enough to cover the cost of all the hookers and booze you'd need for a distraction, probably."

"I'm not sure if even I can afford that," Rafe said drily.

"Victor, don't encourage him," Sam spoke up. "He thinks about killing us enough as it is, he doesn't need any help."

"Why not?" Sully grinned, "There are worse ways to go."

"Maybe for you. I've still got some things I want to do with my life." Sam carried the finished salad to the table and set it down in front of Rafe, then opened the bottle of vinaigrette. "Tell me when."

"Just a little," Rafe told him. "I don't need my lettuce to drown."

Sam complied, drizzling a little over the top. Then he put it away and finally sat down to eat.

Rafe stabbed a tomato with his fork and munched on it. All things considered, the day was going in his favor. He just needed to make it to the night without any incidents, and let the two other men have a chance to relax. Tomorrow, he was going to start testing them.


	9. Chapter Nine

Rafe spent another night laying on the floor, barely sleeping. So far, all he learned about nights there was that Sam snored, and that it was nothing compared to the resounding cacophony that came from Sully's room. He had no idea how he lasted two nights oblivious to _that_ going on in the background.

When morning came, he heard Sam wake up and use the bathroom. He glanced at the time: five past six. Prison had trained the older Drake well, apparently. This morning he decided he was going to stay in his room until someone came for him; there was no point in subjecting himself to a few hours alone with Sam unless he had a good reason, and breakfast was not a good enough reason.

Rafe took a deep breath and pushed himself up, then threw his pillow back on his bed and climbed onto it. He could learn the morning routine later, for now he was going to get at least a few hours of _good_ sleep before he had to get up.

* * *

He woke up a few hours later to a sharp rap on his door. "Get up, Rafe, breakfast is ready."

Rafe groaned and rolled his back towards the door. "Fuck off, Sam. I'll eat later." He didn't mind the 'waking up' part, he just didn't want to hear Sam's voice first thing in the morning.

"Then the food'll be cold and soggy," Sam called through the door, "Because I'm not making anything else for you later, and you won't be able to make it yourself."

There was a muffled thud as Rafe's pillow hit the door. He knew it didn't do anything, but it felt good to throw it. He then sighed and flopped his arm over his eyes. "Just give me a few minutes," he said calmly. "You don't need to hover outside while I get ready."

"This isn't 'hovering'. This is me making sure you get your ass out of bed." Dammit, Sam sounded amused. Rafe _knew_ he was enjoying bothering him like this. "There's no one you really need to 'get ready' for. You know that, right?"

"You're just trying to catch me in my underwear."

"I've seen 'em, they're not that special."

Before Rafe could respond, Sam was walking back to the kitchen.

He huffed and rolled out of bed. It didn't matter the company, he made a habit of presenting himself neatly. The only reason he had gone into the kitchen in pajamas yesterday morning was because he needed the baggy space to hide things, and jeans wouldn't have worked.

He opened a drawer and mentally prepared himself while getting dressed, rehearsing his plans for the day. He'd be taking a few risks for the next week, but as long as he was smarter than them, he'd be fine. That was a given at this point.

When he was ready, he put on his public face and walked out into the hallway.

"Morning, Sully," he nodded to the older man as he entered the kitchen, then he smiled politely at Sam. "Samuel. Looking unkempt as usual."

"Glad you noticed," Sam said easily, "I was rolling out in the dirt to perfect this look."

"I can tell. Maybe keep an eye out for the dog shit next time; it blends in with your natural look too well, you need to find something that pops." Rafe pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. "I'll take a coffee," he said without pausing, "And yogurt, with honey."

"So, you're going to insult me and then ask me a favor," Sam replied. "Good strategy. I'll get you the coffee, but you'll eat what I made you."

Rafe looked at him disdainfully, then turned his attention to Sully. "Yogurt. With honey."

"Relax, you'll like it," Sam spoke up as he opened the oven and took out a plate that had been keeping warm. He carried it over and set it down on the table. "Broiled egg, roasted chicken and peppers, tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions, steamed spinach, flatbread. Nothing fried. I've got some feta cheese, too, but I didn't know if that was acceptable or not."

Rafe looked down at the burrito. If he didn't know any better, he'd think Samuel was trying to get on his good side _without_ changing his personality or anything Rafe didn't like about him- which was the whole package, really. Still, it didn't sound _terrible_. "Fine, if it's my only choice then it'll do. Put a little cheese on it, but don't overdo it."

"Alright." Sam opened the fridge and took a package of cheese out, then pulled Rafe's plate closer so he could add it.

While he was doing that, Sully stood and got a mug out. "I'll get you your coffee. Black, right?"

Rafe nodded. "Please."

Sully went over to the coffee maker and poured out a mug. "So," he started casually, "What did you make for _me_ to eat, Sam?"

"The exact same thing," Sam answered, "Except yours has bacon and scrambled eggs and cheddar instead."

"Oh, thank god."

* * *

After breakfast was over, Rafe had some time to waste. He had finished the book that he picked up a few days ago, but he couldn't find anything else that looked interesting enough. The bookshelf in the living room was stocked almost exclusively with the histories of famous pirates and thieves. For once in his life he was sick of those subjects.

Sully had already settled in his chair with a newspaper, with a pile of papers on the floor next to him that he had yet to read. Rafe turned his attention to the stack. "Is the Wall Street Journal in there?"

"Of course," Sully answered without looking up.

"What about the Financial Times?"

"Didn't see much use in getting that one," Sully looked over the top of his pages. "You want me to add it to the list?"

"Please." Rafe crouched and skimmed through the papers. He found a few that were worth reading and snagged the business sections from each; it wasn't like Sam or Sully would be too interested in those. Then he settled down on the couch and started leafing through the stocks.

"That isn't gonna do you much good out here," Sully commented. "Is that all you're interested in?"

"I want to keep tabs on my company," Rafe answered simply. "Keeping me isolated from them for a year might have a negative impact, but I doubt you considered that." Really, his main company wasn't his concern, as he didn't allow incompetence in his employees, but he had several smaller side businesses that might get antsy without him there to supervise. "Don't worry, Sam'll be your only competition for the sports pages."

"He doesn't usually read them, actually," Sully turned a page, "Probably too many other things going on in his life for him to worry about what a group of men do with some balls. I'm not too fond of the pages myself; I just like to look them over for any potential business opportunities, but when your news is a week late it's impossible to stay ahead of the game."

"Business opportunities," Rafe repeated with a smirk. "Gambling on sporting events is illegal, you know. Also a good way to lose money."

"Depends on whether or not you help run the show," Sully chuckled. "There are plenty of ways to earn money, kid, being a sucker isn't one of them."

Rafe scoffed. "I've known that for a while now. No offense, Sully, but I'm not going to take my financial advice from you, given your track record."

"Alright, I deserved that one."

* * *

A few hours later, Sam came out of his room and walked into the kitchen. He had been reading a book with a cigarette or two, and hadn't wanted to bother the more sensitive house member with his smoke. But now it was nearing lunch time, and the sink was still full.

He shook his head, then walked over and stood in the entrance to the living room. "Rafe, it's now or never on those dishes."

Rafe folded down his newspaper and stared at him blankly. "What are you talking about? I already washed them a while ago."

"That full sink in there tells me that you didn't," Sam crossed his arms. "Come on, quit stalling."

"If there's anything in there now, it must have been put there _after_ I did the breakfast dishes." Rafe held up his paper again, "Therefore, not my responsibility."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're telling me that those plates in there that still have egg yolk on them are not from breakfast?"

"Your grasp on the English language is impeccable," Rafe responded flatly.

Sully lowered the corner of his newspaper, watching with amusement. He only raised his brow in response to the exasperated look Sam shot him.

"Okay," Sam took a deep breath and approached the couch. "That's a pretty obvious lie, Rafe, and you already know what happens with those. I'm going to give you one last chance to get out of it. Go clean the dishes."

Rafe dropped his paper again and gave Sam an annoyed look. "I have a better idea. Why don't _you_ go wash them? Then, while you're at it, you can go fuck yourself."

Sam nodded. "Mhm. Have it your way, then." He pulled the newspaper out of Rafe's hands, setting it to the side, and grabbed his bicep to haul him off the couch. He began pulling him towards the bathroom.

"Hey!" Rafe complained indignantly, digging his feet against the floor. "Let go of me, Sam!"

"I gave you plenty of warning."

"That doesn't mean you have to escort me! I can walk just fine on my own!"

Sam stopped and eyed him. "You expect me to believe that you'll just walk into the bathroom without a problem?"

"I'm a goddamned adult," Rafe narrowed his eyes, "When have I ever tried to run away from what you and Sully do to me? It's a stupid punishment- they're _all_ stupid punishments- and I'm not going to waste any time or energy avoiding it."

"Alright, fine," Sam released his grip. "Be an adult and go stand by the sink."

Rafe leveled a glare at Sam, then straightened his shirt and walked into the bathroom without a word. He stopped by the sink and crossed his arms impatiently.

Sam followed him in and opened the cabinet, getting the same bottle of soap Sully had used before. "Open your mouth."

Rafe looked at him with contempt. "That's degrading."

"I thought you said you weren't going to make this difficult. It's just a stupid punishment, remember?"

"I also said I didn't want to waste any effort," Rafe retorted. "I'm not going to open my mouth like a whore just because you told me to."

"That's good, because I wasn't going to pay you," Sam replied steadily. "You'll feel worse if I have to pry your mouth open for you, because that's the only other way I can do this."

Rafe scowled, then held his hand out. "Just give me the fucking soap."

Sam shook his head. "That's not how it works. Final warning, open up."

"Fuck you."

"Fine." Sam reached out and grabbed his chin, then squeezed against the sides where his molars would be. It was a trick he learned a while ago from a few nuns who knew their business.

Rafe tried to twist his head and push against Sam, but the older Drake kept his grip, and after a few seconds Rafe couldn't take the pressure.

"Alright, knock it o-"

Sam immediately jammed his thumb between Rafe's teeth to keep them from closing again, then raised the pump and dropped a portion of soap in his mouth. He let go before Rafe had a chance to register what happened. He wasn't looking to get his thumb crunched on today.

Rafe gagged and glared at Sam with accusing force, but Sam just pointed to the sink. "Feel free to try to intimidate me, but if I were you I'd be rinsing that taste out of my mouth."

He was prepared to block a punch or kick, but the younger man didn't retaliate. He didn't do anything that Sully had told him to expect. It was strange.

Rafe turned and hunched over the sink and spit out the soap, then twisted the faucet handle. He looked at Sam cautiously, but he didn't seem to protest, so he bent over and cupped some water to his mouth. Sam's rules were apparently not the same as Sully's.

He swished and spit again, then growled at Sam without even a glance. "Get out. Leave me alone."

"I don't think so," Sam crossed his arms, "You still have dishes to wash, you don't need to spend five minutes in here avoiding them. Or are you going to lie again about washing them earlier?"

Rafe scowled. "I don't need five minutes, I need one- _alone_."

Sam reached over Rafe to open the cabinet and put the soap away. "You can sulk later, _after_ your chores."

Rafe grit his teeth and fought the urge to kick him. Instead, he grabbed a towel to wipe his mouth, then he took a deep breath, calming himself. He forced himself to put a neutral expression on, smiled politely at Sam, and walked out into the hallway. Even if he didn't get a moment to collect himself, he could still pretend that the whole thing never happened.

* * *

A day later, after lunch was over, Rafe decided that it was time to test his wardens again. Sully had settled in the living room and Sam had left the house for a walk, so the timing was perfect. He opened the kitchen cupboard and got out a glass, then went to the sink to fill it with water.

"Doing dishes already?" Sully called out, sounding surprised.

"Just starting to soak them," Rafe answered calmly, letting the water run for a little while before turning it back off again. He carried his glass into the living room and set it down so he could grab a newspaper.

Sully raised a brow when he saw it. "I'm pretty sure I included 'getting a drink of water' on that list of things you're not supposed to do right now, kid."

"Sam poured it for me before he left," Rafe replied.

"Did he now?"

"He did."

"I must be getting old, because I thought you were hiding in your room until you heard him leave."

"There's no 'getting'," Rafe said lightly, smirking. "You _are_ old, Victor. I've been telling you to get your head checked since the first day I got here." He sat down and took a sip, looking at Sully as he did so.

Sully knew a challenge when he saw one. "Haven't you eaten enough soap over the past few days?"

"I think _any_ amount of soap counts as 'enough'," Rafe scoffed. "Are you trying to say that you think I'm lying to you?"

"That was the implication, yes," Sully answered.

"Why would I do that? Why would I give myself more work to do when I've got you and Sam waiting on me hand and foot, then lie about it after?"

"One, because you don't like being patronized," Sully answered, "And two, because you can. But if you come clean right now, I'll make it easier on you."

Rafe rolled his eyes and took another sip of water. "You telling me that is patronizing. There's nothing to 'come clean' about."

"Sure," Sully nodded. "Maybe we should just wait for Sam to get back and we can ask him to clear things up."

Rafe shot Sully a look. Clearly, he didn't like that idea. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if he was smoking pot out there, or something worse. I don't think we can rely on his memory."

"He knows better than to do that without sharing," Sully retorted. "Now either we go to the bathroom for a talk now, or we can wait and do it when he's here. I'll let you decide."

Rafe took another long sip from his cup, then sighed heavily, as if this whole thing was one big inconvenience. "Fine," he said as he stood. "If you won't believe me anyway, then I might as well get my suffering over with."

"Good choice," Sully said with a hint of amusement, standing up to follow him.

When they got to the bathroom Rafe stopped in front of the sink. "Want me to get the soap out for you?"

"That's unusually helpful," Sully eyed him. "No thanks, I got it." He turned on the water to wash his hands.

"I'm not being helpful," Rafe argued, "I wanted to make sure you're using the same soap as last time and not the one that's had people's hands all over it."

"You want me to write your name on it?" Sully asked. "Don't worry. If it's in the cabinet then we know not to use it." He reached over and took the bottle out. "Besides, doesn't soap kill germs?"

Rafe scowled slightly, but quickly recovered. "Not all soap does, most just gets rid of grease and dirt. But it's not just germs I'm worried about. We're in the _bathroom_."

"Right." Sully got the cloth from before out and ran it under the tap, then pumped some soap on it. "Open up."

To his surprise, Rafe obeyed without complaint, opening his mouth _just_ wide enough that Sully could get the cloth in. He spread the soap on his tongue, and when he was sure he covered enough area he threw the cloth in the sink.

Rafe didn't even flinch. He calmly closed his mouth and kept his eyes fixed on Victor.

Sully hesitated for a split second. This was very different from the first time, and Rafe might have already gotten over the punishment. Then, after thinking it through, he relaxed. Well, he already knew that the kid was a good actor, and good at suppressing reflexes, doubly so when it was his pride at stake. It was an impressive show, but that's all it was.

He took a paper cup from the medicine cabinet and filled it part way with water, then set it on the rim of the sink. After a making Rafe keep the soap in his mouth for a minute, he gestured towards it. "Go ahead."

Rafe casually turned the water on, then spat into the stream to wash it down the drain. He took a mouthful of water from the cup, swished, and spat again, then turned the tap back off. He grabbed a towel to wipe his mouth. "Are we done now?"

Sully nodded. "Yeah, we're done. You should probably wait a little bit to drink anything else, though."

"That's fine. I'm not thirsty anymore."

* * *

"Victor, I'm telling you, it's not working." Sam took a sip from his beer, keeping his voice low. "It was a nice thought, but he's too stubborn. Taste doesn't build like pain does."

"I saw his reaction the first time," Sully replied, taking a drag from his cigar. "It works, he's just good at hiding it."

Rafe had been locked in his room for the night an hour ago, but they still kept their voices low just in case he was listening. Things had certainly been _different_ the past few days.

"No, that's not right," Sam looked at him, " _I_ never got that reaction from him. _Ever._ He fought me _once_ because he didn't want to open his mouth for me, but he didn't have a problem with the soap itself. He gives me more trouble than he gives you with _everything_ , so why the sudden change?"

"Because it's convincing," Sully sighed, "You know how he is, Sam. Once he gets his temper out of the way, it's a battle of wills, just like when he gets spanked. He wants us to think it's not working so we'll stop doing it, then he'll win. That's why we _shouldn't_ stop."

" _Or_ , hear me out, he overreacted the first time to make you think he hated it so we would use that as a punishment _instead_ of spanking him," Sam argued. "Now he's acting up _just_ bad enough to get his mouth washed, but nothing worse. He's taunting us."

"If that were the case, he'd keep overreacting," Sully rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Sam, please, just trust me on this one."

Sam took a deep breath. This week had been a very trying one. It seemed like Rafe was lying every chance he could, and even creating situations just for the opportunity. He'd had to wash his mouth out three times in just one day. Then, when it was over, Rafe would smile politely and go about his business. On the one hand, it was nice to not be insulted or glared at every second of the day, but on the other hand, this definitely felt more sinister.

"We'll give it another week," Sam relented, then drained the rest of his beer. "If he hasn't changed by then, we need to get a new tactic."

* * *

The next morning, Sam was just finishing off his cup of coffee when Rafe walked into the kitchen. Sully was still in bed. Well, at least he'd had a _little_ peace this time, but he knew Rafe's appearance marked the end of that. So far, every time the brat was out early he managed to cause some kind of incident.

"Morning, Samuel," Rafe greeted him with a fake smile and plopped down in a chair. He leaned back casually. "You didn't make anything yet, did you?"

"No," Sam answered, eyeing him warily. "Usually it's a few hours before anyone else is up to eat. You want something specific today?"

Rafe tilted his head to the side, pretending to think. Obviously, he already knew what he wanted. "I presume there's a blender hiding in this dump somewhere."

"Somewhere," Sam answered, nodding.

"Good. Make me a smoothie," Rafe flashed that smile again. "Any of the fruit we have here will do, with a little bit of yogurt and some flax."

"I can do that," Sam agreed, "But you need to wait until Victor wakes up; it makes too much noise." He stood and grabbed a mug to pour some coffee into, then set it next to Rafe. "For now, drink that. If you want, I can make you some eggs in the meantime."

Rafe looked at him with annoyance. If he was waiting for Sully, he'd be sitting there a long time. He glanced down at the offered mug and nudged it off the table in response. "Oops."

This. _This_ is what he knew was going to happen. Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Seriously? This crap again? Do you _want_ me to spank you?"

"Hey," Rafe looked at him and held his hands up defensively, "It was an accident. You can't punish me for that."

"An accident," Sam crossed his arms, "Right. Because I didn't see you deliberately push the mug off the table right in front of me."

"You're projecting," Rafe shrugged. "No matter what I do, you'll see it the bad way. Maybe you shouldn't be putting drinks so close to the edge, then things like this wouldn't happen."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's too early for this. Fine. Get up. Get to the bathroom. You know the drill."

"So now you think I'm lying," Rafe crossed his arms. "Do you really think I'd do that, Samuel? You think I'd _lie_ to you first thing in the morning?"

"Yes," Sam answered shortly, "I'm not in the mood for games, Rafe. _Get_."

"I'm not in the mood for your games either, but if you insist." Rafe pushed his chair back and stood, then meandered to the bathroom with Sam impatiently following him.

Rafe stopped in front of the sink and crossed his arms. "Just hurry it up. I'll get a headache if I don't get my coffee."

Sam opened the cabinet without responding and took out the bottle of soap. Rafe opened his mouth before he had to be prompted, and Sam pumped some of the soap onto his tongue.

Rafe closed his mouth again, his expression unchanging, then gestured towards the sink.

"Yeah, go ahead and rinse," Sam muttered. No matter what Victor said, he knew this wasn't working, and that Rafe was taunting him right now. It was frustrating, but he also knew Rafe would stop gloating in a minute.

Rafe splashed water into his mouth and spat, then wiped it on a towel. He smirked at Sam and began walking past him. "Well, that was fun. Let's never do it again."

Sam reached out and wrapped an arm around Rafe's waist, pulling him against his side. "No, we're not done just yet."

Rafe's demeanor changed instantly. His muscles became tense and he grit his teeth. "Samuel," he growled. "What are you doing? Let go of me."

"You got your mouth washed because you lied," Sam said calmly, putting the soap down on the sink so he could free his other hand. "We still haven't talked about you breaking that mug on purpose."

"What?" Rafe planted his hands against Sam's back and pressed, trying to force his way out of the grip, but he froze when he felt a sharp smack against his bottom.

"What _the fuck_ are you doing?" he hissed. "We already had a talk! And what about not waking Sullivan up?"

"You'd better keep quiet then, if you don't want him to hear," Sam said evenly, bringing his hand down again. "You can't just break things and lie right away so that you only get your mouth washed. Those are two completely different offenses."

Rafe bristled angrily. This was _not_ how his plan was supposed to go! _Of course_ fucking Sam would ruin everything. Still, he'd been through this punishment before, and he could do it again. Besides, Sam hadn't sent him to his room first. That had to be a good sign. He couldn't be expected to go through the whole thing while standing and pinned to Sam's side, right?

Sam felt him tense up, but no further struggling came out of it. Good, he had come to terms that this was happening. He tightened his hold and brought his hand down eighteen more times, targeting his upper thighs. He figured that between the lingering taste of soap and how much Rafe _loved_ being held close to him, that was all he needed to get his point across.

Rafe hadn't made a sound, but he was still stiff, and shaking a little bit. Sam knew he was livid, and he'd have to be careful when he let him go. "Take whatever time you need to calm down," he said lowly, "But before you get anything to eat, you're cleaning up that mess." Then he released him and braced himself.

Rafe stayed still for a moment, refusing to look at the older Drake. Then he slowly began walking out of the room. As he neared the doorway, he suddenly lashed out, slamming his fist against the wall as hard as he could and breaking through the drywall. He let out a deep breath, allowing the pain to soak in and help him focus, then continued to his room without looking back. He slammed his door behind him.

Sam stared at the hole in the wall that Rafe left behind. There were a few red streaks smeared against the fragments. _Shit_. Rafe's temper tantrums were proving to be formidable. There was no avoiding it now, he had to go wake Victor to make sure the brat didn't break his hand. He picked up the bottle of soap to put it away, then paused and looked at it more closely.

* * *

Rafe was still fuming when he heard the knock on his door. That would be Sully, right on cue. At least, it _better_ be him. "You can come in, but leave that sonuvabitch out there."

Sully pushed the door open cautiously, then walked over to him. He looked like he had just woken up, and wasn't too happy about it. "Let me see your hand."

Rafe scrunched his nose. "Why? Going for a literal slap on the wrist now?"

Sully rolled his eyes and didn't answer. He reached out and grabbed Rafe's arm, lifting his hand up. That was when Rafe noticed he was bleeding.

He snatched his hand away and held it behind his back. "I'm fine. Leave me alone."

"Like hell you are." Sully gave him a stern look and took his arm again. "That needs to be cleaned and looked at. Come on. Sam's in the kitchen, so you won't see him."

Rafe hesitated, then inclined his head and allowed Sully to lead him back to the bathroom.

When they got there, Sully turned the cold tap on and put Rafe's hand under it, rubbing away stray bits of drywall. "Your knuckles are swelling, but nothing feels broken. You got lucky."

Rafe remained quiet. He was too annoyed at Sam to protest, or to insist that he could do all of this himself.

Sully glanced at him. The kid was still tense, and brooding. "You want to talk about what pissed you off so much?"

Rafe only looked at him in response.

"Alright," Sully consented. It had been worth a shot. "Then maybe we should get a punching bag for your room and give you something else to take your anger out on. You did a good job redirecting it to the wall, though, instead of hitting Sam."

Rafe rolled his eyes, but relaxed a little. "I'm not a dog, Sully. I don't need praise."

"I know." Sully left Rafe's hand under the water and opened the cabinet to get the first aid kit out. "That doesn't mean I can't tell you when you've done something right."

Rafe scoffed and eyed the fresh hole in the wall. "So, that's _not_ considered disrespecting the property?"

"In this case, no," Sully shook his head and turned off the water. "It was the wall or Sam. Don't be getting any bright ideas, though."

Eventually, he hoped, Rafe would be able to control his temper better and maybe _then_ it would be considered disrespectful, but the kid wasn't anywhere near there yet. He got a towel to dry Rafe's hand off, and once he was satisfied he grabbed a tube of antibiotic cream and began to dab it over the broken skin.

"I wasn't."

"Sure you weren't. I can see the gears turning." Sully put some gauze on Rafe's knuckles and wrapped them up. "Are you still upset?"

"No, Victor, I'm ready to go out there and hug and sing Kumbaya." Rafe put as much sarcasm in his voice as he could, just in case the old man didn't get the point.

Sully ignored it. "Will you be able to control yourself, at least? Or do you need a few more minutes?"

"I'll behave if he behaves," Rafe answered. He was visibly calmer, and Sully believed him.

"Good." Sully put the kit away. "Then go clean up your mess, and we'll all have breakfast."


	10. Chapter Ten

"Is the brat in his room for the night?"

Sully took his cigar out of his mouth and waved it towards the kitchen entrance, where Sam was standing. "If he wasn't, I wouldn't be doing this, would I?"

He was hunched over the coffee table with a newspaper spread out and a model Spanish galleon slowly coming together in front of him. Nate was always saying that he needed some healthier hobbies, and here on the island there wasn't a whole lot of schmoozing and intermingling he could do, so he thought he'd try his hand at this instead. It wasn't going too badly so far, if he did say so himself, but it was a hobby that, for now, had to wait for the times when Rafe was locked in his room, so he hadn't had a lot of practice yet.

"You might." Sam strode into the living room. "If I remember right, my little brother always protested the cigars, but it never stopped you. This isn't that different." He stood in front of Sully's chair and held up Rafe's bottle of soap. "Open your mouth for a minute."

"Nate always had the option to leave, that's the difference." When Sully saw the bottle, he dipped his head back instinctively and pushed Sam's hand away. "If this is Nate's new scheme to get me to quit, both of you boys are going to end up very sorry," he warned him, clearly unamused.

Sam rolled his eyes. "First off, I'm not that kind of hypocrite. Second, _Nate_ would be the sorry one, not me. I'm too old for that crap." He grabbed Sully's finger to pump a little bit of soap on the tip. "Give it a taste. Just trust me on this one."

"Sam, what's gotten into you?" Sully eyed him.

In response, Sam held the bottle closer for Sully to focus on it. "I know I've been locked away for a bit, but I'm fairly certain that soap isn't supposed to do this."

"Huh." Sully raised a brow. There were small crystals forming around the spout and down the sides of the bottle. Sam was right, that wasn't soap residue. He gave Sam a look to make sure he knew that if this was a prank, he was going to regret it, then he braced himself and brought the orange-red liquid to his tongue.

He was prepared for bitter, not sickly sweet. "Honey?" he scrunched his nose.

"Yes, dear?" Sam responded facetiously, then grew serious again when Sully shot him another look. "I'm guessing that incident last week was more than just him acting out. I noticed a bottle of food coloring missing from the pantry, and that's the only time he's been in there unsupervised."

"Sonuva… I'll be go to hell." Suddenly, things were beginning to make a _lot_ of sense. He'd kept it to himself, but he had begun to second-guess mouth-washing as a working form of punishment for Rafe. He _knew_ the kid's first reaction was real, but he'd had a nagging feeling about the following ones- even when he'd tried to quell Sam's doubts, that feeling didn't go away. Now he knew why. "He really is clever, ain't he?"

"Not as clever as I am," Sam set the bottle down on the coffee table. "The question is, what do you want to do about it?"

Sully mulled it over in his mind, then took a drag of his cigar when he came to a conclusion. "Nothing," he answered, "For now, anyway. I'll need some time to prepare. I'll have to arrange a meeting with Shoreline tomorrow, which means I'll be gone for the day. If he gives you any trouble just act like everything's normal. Think you can handle that?"

"So, if he lies, you want me to keep washing his mouth out with honey?" Sam asked incredulously. "You don't even want me to replace the bottle?"

"Just for tomorrow," Sully answered. "Don't do anything that's going to put his guard up. Let him think he's still got the drop on us or he might start scheming again. He lies after I get back, you let me handle it." He saw the look on Sam's face, then added, "Don't worry, he's going to regret this."

Sam crossed his arms. "He better."

Sully frowned a little. "Why the hell did we have food coloring, anyway?"

"I didn't want it, I thought you asked for it," Sam shrugged and reached in his pocket for a cigarette. "Maybe someone in Shoreline thought we'd be icing cakes and dying Easter eggs or some shit like that. I heard there were some pretty unflattering rumors going around."

"Huh. Damn Shoreline." Sully shook his head. "Anyway, I was gonna ask you; you've done some freelance construction before, right? You think you know enough to patch that hole in the bathroom?"

"Easily," Sam answered, flicking his lighter on. "Might not be pretty, but I can do it."

"Good to know, but you'll just be giving instructions this time around. Get me a list of what you'll need, I'll get it while I'm out tomorrow."

Sam deeply inhaled the smoke and let it out in a slow breath. "Sounds like you're setting me up for a headache for the rest of the week."

"Don't worry, I'll make it up to you with your brand of beer," Sully smirked.

"My favorite beer, _and_ one of your cigars," Sam amended.

Sully considered that for a moment. "Fine," he reluctantly agreed, "But don't get used to it. This is a once-in-a-lifetime type deal."

"I'll be sure to savor it, then."

* * *

Sam sat comfortably in the living room with a book on Grace O'Malley open in his lap, trying to drown out the incessant pounding noise in the background.

It wasn't a headache, although it was certainly causing one to form. That morning, the minute Rafe had found out about Sully leaving for the day, the brat had squirreled away to his room in hiding. Apparently, he had remembered the tennis ball that Sully had given him a week ago and suddenly found an interest in it.

Since then, Sam was treated to an irritating exposition of the tennis ball hitting the walls of Rafe's room at different tempos, rhythm, and intensities. The only way Rafe could be that inconsistent was if he was doing it on purpose, to try and get a reaction out of the older Drake.

Sam wasn't stupid. Rafe had already tried to get him in trouble once when Sully was out; he wasn't going to overreact to something now and give him any leverage.

He _was_ going to have a beer to cope, though. He was already halfway through a bottle, so he might even have two. At this point, he didn't care if Rafe saw it or not.

The drumming stopped suddenly. After three and a half hours, it seemed like Rafe was finally giving up. Sam took a long, celebratory sip and tried to refocus on the paragraph he had been reading.

"What is _that_?"

Sam looked over at the kitchen entrance way where Rafe had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. Damn it, the kid knew how to sneak around when he really wanted to. Looks like he was graduating from 'annoying background presence' to 'upfront nuisance that wouldn't be ignored'. Great.

He was eying him suspiciously, tennis ball in hand, and when he saw he had Sam's attention his gaze shifted to the bottle.

"I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. What does it look like?" Sam asked, holding it up for him to see. "It's beer."

"We have beer?" Rafe asked, his voice heavy with accusation. His mind immediately started going over the potential hiding places that Sully hadn't shown him when they went over the inventory. Really, he should have expected that these two were withholding alcohol, especially the old man. "What _else_ do we have?"

" _I_ have beer," Sam corrected matter-of-factly, "And you don't need to know what else, because it's not for you. The last thing we need is for you to get shit-faced and throw a tantrum."

He lifted the bottle again to take another swig, but before he could swallow anything the tennis ball bounced off of his head, making him spill the drink down his shirt and get a little on his book. It didn't _hurt_ , but it was a hard throw.

Sam took a moment to compose himself and brush the droplets away. "Alright." He stood up and retrieved the ball from where it had rolled on the floor, then looked over at Rafe. The brat was looking at him defiantly, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, mouth a thin line.

"Sorry," Rafe commented, raising a brow. "I had a tantrum. Clearly, I have no control over my actions. Looks like drinking isn't a factor at all." The idea that _he_ was the one with the drinking problem, who didn't know his own limits, was laughable. It was just another way they could separate their status from him to let him know he was the prisoner here. Well, Sam could try to play that game all he wanted to, Rafe was strong enough to keep it from bothering him.

Sam's hand itched, but the last thing he needed was for Rafe to go to Sully at the end of the day complaining that he had the audacity to _talk_ tohim over nothing. He had to keep a cool head and remind himself that he'd been through worse, although he wasn't sure whether his teenage brother or Rafe was the cockier shit. Instead of using his hand, he just rolled his eyes and walked past Rafe into the kitchen. There were other ways to convey a message.

Rafe relaxed once Sam had passed. He hadn't been expecting that to happen, and was almost disappointed. _Almost_. Sam was proving to be harder to crack than he thought he'd be. That just meant he hadn't found the right buttons to push; eventually he was sure that he could provoke a black eye out of him, or worse. Just as long as he avoided _talk_ able offenses- for now, he was including obvious lying on that list, after the last incident.

Still, the older Drake was carrying _his_ tennis ball. He turned around to follow him. "Samuel, give it back."

"No." Sam set his beer down on the counter and dragged a chair over from the table. He stepped on top of it and set the ball down on top of the cupboards. If _he_ could barely reach it from the chair, there was no way in hell _Rafe_ would be able to get to it.

Rafe glared at him as he climbed back down and replaced the chair at the table. Sam ignored it and picked up his beer, then walked back to the living room. "Behave and maybe you'll get that back when Victor comes home," he called over his shoulder.

Rafe didn't respond. He stayed rooted in his spot, continuing to glower. Well, that was fine with Sam. He could sulk all he wanted, at least he wouldn't make any noise that way.

He hadn't even settled back in his seat when he heard the chair being dragged back across the kitchen floor, a long and deliberate sound. Sam rubbed at the bridge of his nose and stood up again, leaving his beer behind. He walked to the entrance and looked into the kitchen, just in time to see Rafe climb off the chair onto the counter, where he actually _was_ tall enough to reach the cabinet top.

"Yeah, no." Sam walked over and hooked an arm around Rafe's waist, lifting him up and dropping him back on the floor. "Either go to your room, go outside, or come into the living room with me, but stay out of the kitchen. You have no reason to be in here anyway, unless you want me to watch you wash dishes."

Rafe scowled, a vein bulging in his forehead. If he got picked up _one_ more time in this house, he was going to kill something. He was _also_ going to get his property back.

When Sam turned to put the chair back at the table he felt the flat of Rafe's fist hit his shoulder blade, right above his heart, then drag down a few inches before dropping off.

He sighed and put a hand on his hip, turning sideways to look at him. "Did you just pretend to _stab_ me?"

Rafe looked just as defiant as before. He crossed his arms casually. "Everyone's allowed to daydream, right? Gotta work off this _temper_ somehow."

Sam's palm _itched_. "You know what? You're absolutely right about that." He reached over and grabbed Rafe's arm to pull him over to the table. "I think I need to work mine off, too." Rafe could say what he wanted to Sully later. Victor should know that if he _really_ lost his temper, Rafe would be getting more than just a warming.

"What?" Rafe went rigid, digging his heels against the hardwood floor. This wasn't what he wanted. "You can't do this, Samuel. That wasn't a _real_ hit." He was pretty sure that Sully had said something about them not taking their anger out on him, too. He'd wanted to provoke Sam into breaking that rule, but not like _this_.

"You've been trying to get me to do this all morning," Sam argued. He didn't feel like dealing with Rafe's struggling, so he used his free hand to grab Rafe's waistband and he lifted him off the floor completely, then hauled him across the table. He kept his left hand on Rafe's arm to pin it behind his back and he brought his right hand down on his bottom hard. "Don't get upset with me for giving you what you wanted."

Rafe grunted when his stomach hit the table, and he tried to push himself off with his free hand. That settled it, he was going to have to murder Sam. "Why the hell would I want this?" he growled. "At least let me go to my room first. We eat on this table, you know."

Sam increased the pressure on Rafe's other arm to force him back down. "Which part are you worried about? The table germs getting on you, or your germs getting on the table? I could easily swing you around to your spot, if you want." He continued to bring his hand down, going straight for his sit spots.

Rafe squirmed. He couldn't push himself up and he couldn't roll on his side. Crawling across the table was only going to make him an easier target, and there wasn't enough traction on the wooden surface to keep Sam from pulling him back to his original position, anyway. There was no escaping it, so he took a deep breath and lay still. "I _want_ you to let me go. Haven't you figured out yet that you don't shit where you eat?"

Sam eased his grip. They were already at the stage where Rafe resorted to just waiting it out, which meant he probably realized this wasn't going to be a very long one. "I stopped caring about that in Panama. Besides, you've still got your pants on, for now."

"That's still unhygienic," Rafe complained through grit teeth.

"Somehow, I think we'll live," Sam responded evenly, hitting the back of his thigh. "Luckily, being a brat isn't contagious."

Rafe stiffened with indignation and he lifted his leg, aiming a kick Sam's way.

Sam sidestepped it, letting it glance off his hip. "You're not really in a good position to be doing that," he said calmly, "And if you succeed, you'll just be laying there while we _talk-_ " he smacked one of his sit-spots extra hard for emphasis, "-for a lot longer than you were going to be."

Rafe tried to kick him one last time, then he went limp over the table again, staying silent. He couldn't _wait_ for Sully to get back. Part of him wasn't convinced that leaving him here with Sam for the day wasn't a punishment for putting a hole in the wall, even if he said it had been the right thing to do at the time. Either way, he had a _lot_ of complaints to file when the old man returned.

Sam finished up with four more hits, then took a step back and let him go. That was probably enough to make Rafe think twice before trying to bait him again, and hopefully he'd stay out of his hair for the rest of the afternoon.

Rafe took a few seconds to regain his composure. When he was ready, he pushed himself to his feet and turned his back away from Sam, giving him a scathing glare. He took a few steps backwards, then, when he was a safe distance away, he turned around and walked back to his room, forcing himself not to rush.

Sam snorted. Heaven forbid he thought for one second that Rafe was actually sorry, or at least _felt_ the repercussions of his actions. Whatever. He knew the brat was probably rubbing his ass the moment he closed the door to his room anyway.

With the confrontation out of the way, Sam went back to the living room to finish off his beer. With Rafe pouting, he might even get the chance to enjoy a cigarette with his book, too.

* * *

Sully didn't get back until Sam was preparing dinner. He had decided to just wash the dishes himself, even though Rafe didn't really need the reprieve. His punishment hadn't been _that_ bad, but he didn't think the fight would be worth it. Besides, this way he knew the dishes would be cleaned the right way the first time around.

"Sorry I'm late," the older man said when he walked in. "It took a little longer than I expected to convince Nadine we needed everything I was asking for."

"What else is new?" Sam smirked as he shaved the scales off a fish fillet he planned on throwing in the oven. "I take it you finally compromised on something?"

"What do you take me for, an amateur?" Sully feigned offense. "There's a reason I'm in charge of negotiations." He looked past Sam's shoulder at the hallway. "How's it going, kid? I see one day without me didn't kill you."

Sam turned his head and watched Rafe walk silently from the hallway over to the counter, ignoring Victor. He looked up at the cupboards pointedly, then looked over at Sam. He was still sulking.

"Right." Sam rinsed off his hands and dried them, then pulled a chair over to retrieve the ball. Sully raised a questioning brow, but he'd have to wait to get his answers.

Before giving it back, Sam held the ball up to get Rafe's attention. "You throw this at me again and it goes away for a week. I don't care if it's yours or not." He tossed it over to him without waiting for a response, then went back to the piece of fish.

A few seconds later he heard Rafe's footsteps going down the hallway. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rafe give him one last glare over his shoulder, then without a word enter his room.

Sully chuckled. "I'd love to know what that was about."

"Why are you laughing?" Sam demanded, giving Sully an annoyed look. "He threw that ball at my head, Victor."

"Yeah, and he was about to do it again," Sully grinned and drew a cigar from his pocket. "Had the pitch lined up and everything. Seems he changed his mind last minute. You're going to have to tell me what happened while I was away."

Sam shook his head. "I'll started by saying that you are never allowed to leave me alone with him for the day again."


	11. Chapter Eleven

*Author's Note: Sorry to keep you all waiting, I know it was a long time between updates. I had a few things that I was recovering from that impeded my writing, but I'm back now, with the longest chapter yet! I hope you enjoy!

Also, a few people have been asking if Nate is going to show up. I do plan on bringing him in later, both through flashbacks and the present, so don't worry, you'll see him eventually!*

* * *

Rafe paced back and forth in his room. There was a knot of anger in his stomach. It wasn't tight enough to strangle out his self-control, but the more he dwelled on what happened the bigger it grew, it's imposing presence driving his blood pressure up and making the back of his throat taste like bile. He'd been tempted to throw that ball right back at Sam for his impertinence and prove he didn't care if he took it away or not. It was just a stupid ball, even if it was one of the few possessions here he could actually claim as _his._ He bet that if he slammed it against Drake's ear hard enough, he could do some permanent damage. It might even be an improvement.

He didn't want to get thrown over the table again, though; especially not with Sullivan right there.

So, now he paced, converting his anger into an energy that he could expel more easily. He had to cool off, unwind the knot and store it in the back of his mind with the rest of his irritation from the Drakes and Sully. He could bring it out again later, when he actually had the means to use it for revenge.

A knock on his door brought him to a halt. He took a deep breath, clenched and unclenched his fists, and collected himself. With effort, he forced his features into a calm expression, despite what he felt. He had plenty of practice at it, considering the image he had to protect. When he spoke, his voice was strong and casual. "Come in."

Sully pressed the door open, eyes sweeping the room to assess the situation. After talking with Sam, he figured that he should probably check on Rafe to see how he was doing. As highly as the kid thought of himself, his dignity was very fragile. Sully had seen it in plenty of people before, but usually he was schmoozing them while swindling their things right beneath their noses. When things went right, he was long gone before the aftermath.

It was painfully obvious that Sam had even less experience, and less patience, at least when it came to the men in that category.

The kid was standing stiffly in the middle of his room, head turned away from the door, arms crossed over his chest. Well, at least he wasn't waiting in ambush. Sully saw his arms and shoulders tense up, then Rafe realized what was happening and forced them to relax again. Even with the times he'd seen the kid snap, he didn't think he knew anyone outside of the navy who was as good at keeping their composure as he was, or at recovering so quickly after losing it. This went beyond training to keep a public image, and he decided he'd have to ask Rafe about it sometime when he was in a better mood.

The room itself looked different; like everything was rearranged. Either Rafe had spent the afternoon in his room by reorganizing things to his preference, or- more likely- he had knocked everything off the shelves and out of drawers in a fit of rage right after the 'talk' with Sam, then whatever goddamn part of him it was that kept his appearance in check him made him put it all back in order. The tennis ball was the only thing out of place, being thrown haphazardly on his bed.

Sully stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. He knew that he had to breech the silence first, or it would never be broken. "How you doing, kid?" he asked, keeping his tone light. "I heard you had a rough day."

Rafe didn't answer, he just kept his eyes trained on the wall, and with the placid expression on his face he looked for all the world like he was watching a screen. He was keeping tabs on Sully through his peripherals, though, just in case the old man came too close. He wasn't in the mood for touchy-feely, or _emotions_.

Alright, Sully surmised, he wasn't just upset with Sam. He was upset with _him,_ too. Maybe he shouldn't have left the two of them alone so early on in the year, but Rafe hadn't seemed to really mind it before he left. Then again, the kid probably wouldn't have broadcasted it if he did.

Or maybe he was just mad because Sully had let Sam talk to him like a child and hadn't said anything about it. Well, that's why he was here now, to figure it out.

"Alright." He approached Rafe and reached out to put a hand on his back. "Want to tell me about it?"

Rafe stiffened under his touch and took a slight step sideways, just far enough to pull away.

Sully let his hand drop, then he crossed his arms and stepped into Rafe's field of view. "Kid, I already told you that you can't keep up the silent treatment here. If you don't want to talk right now, that's fine, but you have to tell me that. I just want to make sure you're okay, but I can come back later if you want me to."

A more pointed, annoyed look replaced the calm one, and Rafe took a deep breath. Then he shifted his gaze upwards from the spot on the wall that Sully was now blocking to look him in the eye. "You're not allowed to leave me alone with him again."

The corners of Sully's mouth quirked upwards before he could stop himself. The vote was unanimous, then. "That's a start. Want to tell me why?"

"Sam already told you, didn't he?"

"Sam told me you were trying to provoke him into a fight for most of the morning, that you threw your ball at him, and then hit him when he took it away," Sully answered. "Is that the version you want me to stick with?"

Rafe felt his cheeks flush and he grit his teeth indignantly. "I wouldn't have phrased it that way."

Sully reached his hand out again, resting it between Rafe's shoulder blade and neck. He felt the kid tense up, but this time he hesitated for a few seconds, then relaxed his core and shifted towards Sully to press back into his hand. Sully accepted the unspoken permission and began to rub small circles with his thumb. "How would you have phrased it, then?"

Rafe was quiet for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He was very aware of the weight against his upper back, but he had decided it was harmless to humor the old man, possibly even helpful in the long run. If he could win Sully over to his side by letting him think he had some sort of paternal influence, then maybe he could get out of here sooner, or at the very least get _Samuel_ out.

And, perhaps, a small part of him found it to be soothing, but he would never even _entertain_ the idea in his conscious mind.

"He's the one who started it," Rafe finally answered. "He was drinking beer, and he told me I couldn't have any because I couldn't handle it. I've been drinking for years, Victor, harder stuff than beer. He was flaunting his position in this house because he didn't have to worry about you being around to see it." He glanced at Sully. The old man didn't seem surprised, so maybe Sam had told him that part already, or at least a version of it.

Sully was watching Rafe closely. It was hard to tell if what he was saying was sincere or another carefully acted lie, but his gut feeling told him that it was genuine. He knew Sam would never actually do something like that- he wasn't petty, and he didn't care much for status- but he could believe that Rafe would _interpret_ it like that. He wasn't sure if he even liked beer, or if he just wanted it because Sam had it and said he couldn't. And, of course, it didn't explain Rafe's behavior before he even came out and saw the beer, but apparently that part wasn't important to him, and he didn't need to excuse it.

"So you threw the tennis ball at him, because he was rubbing the beer in your face."

"And?" Rafe scowled, "You and I both know that couldn't have hurt him. You could shoot one out of a cannon at someone and it wouldn't even leave a mark. He didn't _have_ to take it away, he was just being a dick."

Sully nodded. "And that's the part that pissed you off? He took something that belonged to you for no real reason?"

Rafe looked away from him and chose not to answer that directly. "Just tell him to stop picking me up and throwing me around, alright? I'm not his little brother. He can't just _do_ that."

With Rafe no longer looking at him, Sully indulged in an amused smirk. "I'll talk to him, but I can't guarantee it'll work. He likes to take the path of least resistance."

"Yeah? Well, if he keeps it up he's going to find resistance in the form of a well-placed kick," Rafe said, voice dark and sullen. "I'm an adult; I don't need to be _manhandled_."

"I'll be sure to mention that." Sully squeezed Rafe's shoulder placatingly. "You should know that _I'm_ the one who came up with the no alcohol rule, not Sam. It was originally going to be lifted once you'd settled in."

Rafe tensed up, but instead of moving away he looked at Sully shrewdly. "If I hadn't punched Sam after you explained the rules?"

Sully nodded. "After that, you lost the privilege, along with a few others, like not being locked in your room at night. Don't worry, though, it's something that can always be earned back. Speaking of which, do you want some good news?"

"Only if you're about to tell me that Sam's been voted off the island."

"I'm afraid not," Sully chuckled a little and shook his head. "We need someone to do the housework, don't we? No, I've decided that it's been long enough. If you promise not to waste food- or anything else- on purpose anymore, then you're allowed to get things for yourself again. How does that sound, hm?"

Rafe studied him, trying to decide if he was being set up or not. He couldn't find any reason behind a trap like that, though, not coming from Sully. If _Sam_ had told him, he wouldn't trust it. He inclined his head. "I won't be wasting anything again," he answered, choosing his words carefully. "Unless you count time, because this whole year is nothing but a waste of that. Does Sam know about this?"

"Yeah, I already told him." Sully clapped Rafe on the shoulder before removing his hand and gesturing towards the door. "Feeling better? Because I got something for you while I was out, but I'll need help bringing it in. Unless you don't mind Sam coming into your room, of course"

"No," Rafe said quickly. "I can help you." He cocked his head to the side. "I didn't ask you for anything, Sully." Especially not anything heavy. "Is this something I actually want, or just something you think I should have?"

"A bit of both, I think. We talked about it earlier." Sully grabbed Rafe's wrist and held his hand up, emphasizing his bandaged knuckles. "Something to help prevent this from happening again."

Rafe pulled his hand away. He didn't appreciate the suddenness of that, but he remembered the conversation Sully was referring to. "Is there space for a punching bag in here?"

"If we rearrange some things, there should be," Sully confirmed, looking over the room. "For now, we'll just bring the box in, and we can set it up later after you've decided where you want it." He walked over to the door and opened it then. "Come on and help an old man out."

Rafe followed him through the hallway and into the kitchen, where he pointedly avoided looking at Sam, who was hovering by the stove working on dinner. The kit was outside on the porch, and it was much heavier than it looked. It took a little maneuvering to get it inside the house, then into his room. Just as they were setting it down in the corner where it was out of the way, Sam called out that it was time to eat.

Rafe groaned inwardly and walked out to the table, still avoiding looking at the older Drake. He glanced at the spot where he had been tossed down earlier, and was grateful that it at least wasn't at his usual seat; he wouldn't want to eat there. When he walked around the table and pulled his chair out, he saw that the cushions had disappeared. _Yeah, fuck you too, Sam._ He sat down without comment. The earlier incident thankfully hadn't left him very sore, and it wasn't too difficult for him to sit.

Sam carried a pan of salmon fillets over, seemingly oblivious. "How hungry are you?" he asked, letting Rafe see his choices. The brat _seemed_ to be in a better mood than earlier, but that really didn't mean anything. He doubted that even Sully's charm could change his mood that quickly.

Rafe glanced at the pan, avoiding looking up, and pointed to one of the smaller pieces. "That one."

Sam obliged, putting it on his plate, then he walked to Sully's spot and gave him the biggest piece. "There's more if you want it, but for now I'm putting it in the oven to keep it warm," he commented as he put a piece on his own plate. After taking care of the fish, he carried a bowl of roasted vegetables and a bowl of thinly sliced, fried potatoes over. The vegetables were set in front of Rafe, the potatoes in front of Sully. When everyone had what they wanted, he finally settled down in his seat.

Rafe picked up his fork and slowly began to eat, deliberately pacing himself. The longer he had food in his mouth, the less he had to talk.

After a few minutes, Sully sat back and spoke around a mouthful of potatoes. "I figure that tomorrow morning we can set that thing up in your room," he addressed Rafe, "So think about where you want it tonight."

Rafe nodded in acknowledgement, but didn't speak.

"By 'we', I'm assuming you mean me," Sam commented after swallowing his bite. "Please tell me you at least kept the instructions for it."

"No, I mean me and Rafe," Sully answered, as if it should have been obvious. "Why the hell would I need instructions? If I can fly a plane, I can build a simple frame. How hard could it be?"

At that, Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh, God."

Rafe looked up from his plate and raised a brow. "You have potatoes in your mustache."

"Hm? Oh, thanks." Sully grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth, the irony in Rafe's voice lost on him.

The other two shared a look, the one time that night Rafe found it acceptable to glance Drake's way, then he turned away to keep eating.

"Wait," Sam looked at Sully with mock surprise, the first part of his answer dawning on him, "You actually want to do work in the morning? Victor, are you feeling alright?"

Sully smirked. "I'm swell, thanks for asking. I just figure that you'll have enough to do tomorrow." He glanced at Rafe. "Both of you will."

Rafe looked up again and narrowed his eyes. This felt suspiciously like the time Sully dropped the bomb of who'd be washing dishes on them.

Sully answered the unspoken question. "Tomorrow, you're going to be fixing that hole you made in the bathroom."

"I don't know how to," Rafe responded, immediately dismissing the idea.

"I know. That's why Sam is going to teach you." Sully watched for signs of trouble. Rafe had just complained to him about being left alone with Sam, and now he was going to force the two of them to work together. He knew the kid wasn't going to be happy.

Rafe suppressed a scowl, keeping his face neutral to hide his displeasure at that announcement. "I thought you said I wasn't going to be punished for that."

"It's not a punishment," Sully said matter-of-factly. "I've told you enough times, you're expected to clean up the messes you've caused, just like everyone else. That's all I'm telling you to do now."

"And why can't you teach me?"

"Because I don't know how," Sully answered honestly. "I could probably piece something together if I had to, but it'd look like a goddamn mess, and I doubt it would keep very well. I don't have the advantage of a million different odd jobs under my belt."

Rafe continued eating, acting as if he didn't care. "Fine." If he didn't have a choice, then he'd have to either come to terms with it or come up with a way to get out of it. He had all night to mull it over.

* * *

By the afternoon of the next day, Rafe had a brand-new punching bag set up in the corner of his room, along with a pair of gloves and some wraps for his hands. He doubted he would need any of it for anger release like Sully thought he did- he was perfectly capable of keeping his temper in check- but if it made the old man feel safer then there was no harm in having it there. Besides, after spending all that time at Nadine's in a cell, and then spending more time living a soft life in this house, he'd need it to get back in fighting shape, so he wasn't going to complain.

He _was_ going to complain about his next task, though. He had already tried using the dishes as an excuse, but Sully said that he'd be willing to do them instead if it meant the bathroom would get done sooner. _Asshole._ He still had other options, though, and he was going to keep trying until he ran out.

Sam was already setting things up in the bathroom and getting the equipment ready. He said he was going to come get Rafe when it was time to start, which 'shouldn't be too long from now.' Rafe decided to jump the gun and stand in the bathroom entrance before he was called. Everything was going to be on _his_ terms, including when he showed up.

Sam was sitting on the side of the tub, mixing a bucket of compound. It was a lot more than they'd need today, but he told Sully to buy extra supplies because he had a feeling they'd be patching a few more holes before the year was over. He had his head down, so he didn't notice when Rafe made his appearance. He was standing there for a few minutes before Sam finally saw him, then he nearly jumped out of his skin.

He _really_ wished the brat would stop sneaking around like that. He had an uncanny ability to make _exactly_ the amount of noise that he wanted to, including no noise at all. He was going to give one of them a heart attack at this rate.

"What do you want?" he asked, exasperation slipping into his voice. "I'm not ready for you yet."

Rafe smirked. Catching people off guard always gave him a sense of satisfaction, especially when it was someone he didn't particularly like. Instead of answering right away, he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. "This is bullshit. I don't want to do this, and I know you don't want to do it with me. Am I right so far?"

"If you're going to be whining the entire time instead of just doing what I tell you to, yeah," Sam agreed. "But that doesn't change anything."

Rafe pursed his lips, quelling the urge to argue. He didn't _whine,_ but right now wasn't the time to discuss that. "I'm going to do both of us a favor and talk to the old man and see if I can get him to change his mind."

Sam snorted and returned to mixing the compound. "Yeah, good luck with that one," he said. "I'll be ready in ten minutes, alright? Will I have to come and get you?"

"You won't have to," Rafe answered. "If I'm not here by then, just assume you don't need me anymore and do it yourself."

Sam paused long enough to give Rafe a hard look. "Just how stupid do you think I am?"

Rafe didn't reply to that. He smiled sweetly and slipped back into the hallway to go to the kitchen, where the old man was still washing dishes. Just from a glance, he doubted that Sam was going to be any happier with Sully's job than he was with Rafe's. He wondered if Sam was going to make Sully feel the plates for grease too.

Rafe walked over and stood closely by Sully's side, but not close enough to actually be _touching_ him. Then he waited.

It still took Sully a few moments, but when he finally saw him out of the corner of his eye he smirked over at him. "Hey kid. Everything going okay?"

"It's going great for me." Rafe answered. "Sam says it's too humid to do anything about the hole right now. There's a small chance we can fix it tonight, but otherwise, we'll need to try again in the morning."

"Uh huh," Sully placed a cleaned plate into the drying rack and reached for another. "But he's still setting everything up right now?"

"He just found out," Rafe lied smoothly. "He did a test patch on the wall and it isn't drying very well. There's some worry about humidity getting trapped, or expansion, or something like that. I wasn't really listening, it wasn't important to me. He still wants to be prepared for later, though, in case tonight works out, so he's getting everything ready." He hesitated then. Did he dare to push his luck? "Of course, he might just be waiting for me to get locked in my room before he starts. I don't think he really wants me there; he said I'd probably be getting in the way."

Sully eyed him, but kept his tone even. "Is that so?"

"I am the last person who would ever say this, but he's probably right." Rafe crossed his arms. "This isn't like wiping a table. Fixing a wall isn't exactly a skill that I possess, nor is it one I will ever require."

"Of course you will," Sully picked up a drinking glass and wiped his sponge around its interior. "You need it right now, to fix the hole you made."

Rafe fought to keep from glowering. The old man was too obstinate for his own good. "That's not what I was saying; I won't need it outside of this little hell-hole. That's what carpenters and contractors are for."

"If it's too humid to do it today, I want to hear it from Sam," Sully said abruptly, turning off the faucet so he could look fully over at Rafe. "No offense, kid, but you're not exactly in any position to want to tell me the truth right now, and if there _was_ a problem, Sam wouldn't have sent you to tell me."

This time, he couldn't stop the anger from crossing his face. "So, you don't trust me?"

Sully cocked his head to the side. "When it comes to you getting out of work? Have you given me a reason to?"

"I wasn't aware that I had to." Rafe put as much accusation into his voice as possible, trying to guilt the old man, if reasoning didn't work. This was not going the way he wanted it to go. Granted, it had only a small chance of working from the beginning, but he was still going to persist.

"Kid, I do trust you, with certain things," Sully answered, then shook his head. "But that trust has limits- limits that _you_ helped put in place. This isn't something I can take on faith alone."

Before Rafe could come up with a response, Sam called out from the bathroom. "It's ready, brat. Let's get it over with."

Rafe turned and directed a glare at the wall that stood between him and Drake. Sam had _impeccable_ timing.

Sully smirked wryly. "Go take care of it. You and I are going to talk about that lie when you're done." He turned the water back on so he could get the lunch dishes over with.

"Good," Rafe muttered flippantly. "I was hoping for soap with a side of tea today."

Sully snorted with amusement. "Glad you're looking forward to it."

Rafe looked back at the old man, trying to convey how un-funny this whole thing was and how much he didn't appreciate it, then slowly began walking towards the bathroom.

"I thought I told you not to call me," he said accusingly as soon as he got to the doorway.

"You did," Sam acknowledged, "But you're not in charge here, so I ignored you."

Rafe narrowed his eyes, then looked away. He could feel a headache forming at his temples, and they hadn't even started doing anything yet.

Sam lifted up a small square of drywall with paper trailing over the edges. "This isn't going to take long, just listen up." He was supposed to teach Rafe how to do it, so he began explaining, "The first thing I did was-"

"I don't care," Rafe interrupted him flatly.

"I'm just telling you-"

"I don't care," Rafe repeated. "I don't need to know what you did. Just tell me what _I_ have to do."

Sam took a deep breath and held it for a second. He was getting a headache of his own. "Fine," he held out the square. "Take this and that pencil over there. Hold it up to the hole you made and trace around the drywall, not the paper backing."

Rafe looked at the square and crossed his arms without taking it. "You couldn't do that?"

"I could have, easily," Sam answered, "But it's not my job. My job is to cut what needs to be cut and tell you how to do the rest."

Rafe gave Sam a look that would have sent any of his employees quailing, but Sam matched it. Finally, Rafe took the square and held it to the wall.

"Make sure the hole is completely covered before you trace."

"Good call, telling me that," Rafe responded sarcastically, "I was planning on being fucking stupid today."

"You're being pretty stupid with that attitude, so I'd say you're already ahead of yourself."

"And yet I still can't get to your level." Rafe carefully dragged the pencil along the edges. As much as he wanted to make this difficult for Sam, there was a part of him that had to make the lines as perfect as he could. He _was_ a professional, after all. When he was done, he stepped back and looked over at the older man.

"Good," Sam nodded in approval. He picked up a boxcutter and carefully scored along the lines, then took up a tool with a serrated blade. "This is a drywall sa-"

"I _don't_ need to know that."

"Are you really that worried about learning something today?" Sam eyed him.

"I will never, ever need to know any of this beyond right now," Rafe answered.

"Until you get mad and punch the wall again," Sam mumbled to himself and cut out the lines around the hole, then lifted the tub of compound he had been mixing. "Now, this is-"

"I. Don't. Care," Rafe ground out, as if he was talking to a particularly stupid dog.

"Okay, interrupt me one more time and you're getting swatted," Sam held up a finger in warning.

Rafe's ears got hot and his face turned red from embarrassment. Of all the words Sam could have used, he chose _that_ one, like he was a _fly_. He wasn't even sure how to respond to that without sounding petulant, so kept his mouth shut and looked at Sam disdainfully.

On the plus side, now he had figured out one of Sam's pet peeves, something he could put to use in the future.

"Put your square on the newspaper there," Sam said, pointing to a covered spot in the floor. "You're going to take this joint compound and spread it on the back of the paper lining. Think you can handle that?"

Rafe didn't respond. He knelt down and put his drywall on the floor, then took the wide-bladed tool that Sam offered him. He smeared compound over the paper, then stood and carried it to the wall without being told to. It was pretty obvious what he was supposed to do next. Sam didn't protest, so he slid the square into the hole and pressed down the paper edge.

"Good," Sam praised with a hint of dryness in his tone, and he picked up the joint knife Rafe had used for the compound. "Now you're going to spread this over the whole thing, but there's a trick to doing it. Move over, I'll show you."

The rest of the afternoon was spent spreading the compound (using _feathering_ , like this was some kind of fucking _art project_ ), waiting for it to dry, and sanding it down, only for Sam to decide it needed _another_ layer of compound over the first, which _also_ had to be feathered, dried, and sanded.

By the end of it, Rafe felt unpleasantly grimy and sweaty, and his arms were sore. He was pretty sure that Sam had enjoyed watching him suffer through that whole ordeal.

Sam ran a hand over the spot, feeling for any roughness that he couldn't see. All in all, it wasn't bad for a first attempt. "It still needs a coat of paint, maybe two, but that can wait for tomorrow," he decided. "Nice job."

"Great," Rafe said, making it clear he didn't care. "Now get out. I want to take a shower."

"What, you're not going to help me put all of this away?"

Sam chuckled at the look that passed the brat's face. "Alright, I guess I can handle this part." There weren't too many supplies, overall, and he was able to gather up everything in one go. Now he just had to find a place to store it all. He didn't need Rafe finding it and deciding to get _creative_.

He noticed a buildup of dust and particles by the wall from all the sanding Rafe had done, but he'd get Victor to clean that up later. The old bastard needed to contribute _somehow._

Once Sam was out of the way, Rafe went to his room for some clothes and a towel, then began washing away every memory of that horrible experience.

* * *

Sully had finished the dishes and had decided to make himself a snack by the time Sam was done putting the supplies away. "How'd he do?"

"Oh, the usual," Sam answered, immediately walking towards the dish drain. "There was lots of whining and complaining, but eventually he got around to doing what I told him." He frowned, looking everything over. "Victor, I appreciate the gesture… But next time, just let me wash them instead."

"I'm sure they're fine," Sully carried some buttered bread and cheese over to the stove, ignoring the looks of reproach from the older Drake. "How does the wall itself look?"

Sam began transferring the dishes from the drain back into the sink. "I thought they taught you better in the navy," he muttered under his breath, then spoke louder for Sully to hear. "Once the paint goes on, it shouldn't be too noticeable."

When he heard the shower turn on, he turned towards Sully and crossed his arms. "He needs to be spanked, Victor. _Badly_. More than just a few love taps."

"Oh, I know he does," Sully agreed, taking an already greasy pan and adding too much butter on it before putting it back on the burner. "He's gotten pretty comfortable in the past week, milking that honey bottle."

"No, he's gotten _spoiled_ ," Sam corrected and reached for his pack of cigarettes. "He thinks he can get away with things now, and that he doesn't have to listen to us. And _you're_ not helping."

"See, the problem is, he isn't stupid enough to do anything to actually land himself in trouble," Sully told him, "And I'm not about to spank him for something arbitrary like an attitude. It won't work."

"Why not?" Sam asked. He lit his cigarette and turned back to the sink, running the water. He grabbed the sponge and made it soapy, then began to scrub his annoyance out on the plates. "It'd at least humble him a little."

Sully waited for his pan to get hot enough to melt the butter he had put in, then he gently placed one of the slices of bread, butter side down. He added the cheese, then put the final layer of bread on top. "You're frustrated, I get that. I am too," he said calmly. "But a spanking wouldn't have worked for your attitude either, that's why you got kicked out of the orphanage. If you didn't think you earned it, you'd just get resentful." He looked over his shoulder. "You wouldn't even do that to Nate, remember?"

Sam took a deep breath. Nate had never been as bad as Rafe was in the first place; he seemed to be completely missing the arrogant streak Sam had inherited from their father.

But, during the occasions when Nate had been _difficult_ without being _bad_ , it was always solved with a trip to Catholic Mass rather than a trip over his knee. Making him sit through a service did wonders for Nate's behavior, whether it was an attitude or it was one of the few occasions his little brother had decided to expand his vocabulary, and expand it in Sam's direction. And, even though back then he already knew it was far too late for his own soul, he didn't see a problem helping his little brother in the after-life, so it was a good solution to the problem.

"Okay, you're right," he answered. "But we have to do something. Mass isn't going to work on Rafe, he's used to sitting through board meetings." Not that they could actually take him anywhere if they wanted to right now.

"Just be patient, I don't think it'll be too long before the occasion arises," Sully mused. "He was telling me the fattest lie before you called him in to help you. He already knows he's getting his mouth washed for it. He doesn't know we know about the honey yet, and when he finds out I wouldn't be surprised if he does something to retaliate." Of course, he'd be much happier if Rafe just accepted that he did something wrong and got caught, but Victor was a realist, and that just wasn't going to happen.

Sam paused and raised a brow. "Oh really? What was the lie?"

"It was a work of art," Sully smirked. He had run enough cons to appreciate a good lie when he heard one, even if it was being said to his face. "With all the details he threw in there, I would have easily believed it, if I didn't know better." He flipped his grilled cheese over. "He tried to throw you under the bus, of course, but the _way_ he did it…"

* * *

Just as Rafe was pulling his pants on, there was a knock on the bathroom door. He hoped that Sam hadn't remembered some other torture he had to go through for the stupid wall.

"You'll have to give me a moment," he called out, more to figure out who was knocking than as a courtesy. Whoever it was, they would wait for him to get dressed regardless. No one was seeing him in his underwear or without a shirt on.

"That's why I knocked," Sully called through. "You don't have to open up right away, but don't dawdle.

When Rafe was completely clothed, with his hair raked back the way he liked it, he opened the door and peered out. "Let me guess; you're here to make sure I'm thoroughly cleaned."

"I suppose you could put it that way," Sully looked back at him with amusement. "I figure that now is better than later for both of us."

"Whatever." Rafe stepped out of the way and pulled the door further open. "I have more important things to do."

"Oh, do you? Like what?"

"Like slowly stabbing myself with a spoon."

Sully snorted. "Well then, don't worry, this won't take long." He walked past Rafe into the bathroom and washed his hands, then dried them and opened the cabinet.

He had a hard time mulling over what to do about the honey. His first thought was just to switch it out with a bottle of real soap and let Rafe deal with that surprise once he tasted it. He knew that's what Sam wanted to do about it. But he also knew that the kid wouldn't be prepared for it, and would therefore have a completely genuine, uninhibited reaction to the soap, and he would _not_ appreciate having that forced out of him. At the very least, he would misinterpret the intention behind it. It might teach him a lesson about not sneaking behind their backs, but Sully was worried that it would undo whatever rapport he had built up between them. In the long run, it would do more damage than good.

He and Sam had eventually settled on a different idea. From the medicine cabinet he took out a thick, rounded bar of soap- 'original' scented, whatever that meant- and a washcloth.

Rafe didn't move his stance, but Sully could see him instantly tense up, eying the bar intently.

"What is that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Exactly what it looks like," Sully answered, unwrapping the bar over the sink.

Rafe paused for a moment, contemplating. "Why are you using that and not the one you've been using? Soap is soap."

"But honey isn't soap," Sully looked over at him. "And this form is a lot harder to swap out with something sweeter."

Rafe swallowed, but showed no outward signs of distress. "I suppose that's true," he said, keeping his voice steady, and smiled congenially at the old man. "But how would I be able to do that in the first place? You two are watching me all the time, and you keep everything locked up."

"You're very good at coming up with distractions," Sully answered, "Which we knew, of course, but I have to admit, I underestimated you." He turned the faucet on. "Now cut the bullcrap, Rafe. I know you're smart enough to figure out that you can't get out of this one, no matter what you try. Are you going to come clean, or are you going to get yourself in more trouble?"

Rafe studied him for a moment, then shrugged and crossed his arms defiantly, the smile dropping from his face. "Well, you have to admit, I had you going for a bit. It wasn't a bad plan."

"No, it wasn't," Sully agreed, "But you had to know you'd run out of honey eventually. What were you going to do then? Stage another mess?"

"I was hoping you'd give up on the idea by then," Rafe answered. "You're a stubborn old man, you know that? How'd you find out?"

"I'll take that as a compliment," Sully smiled grimly. "Sam's the one who noticed it. The seal on the soap bottle isn't tight enough to keep water from evaporating. The honey was starting to harden."

"Of course," Rafe nodded shortly. "Remind me to thank him later."

"Sure." Sully picked up a green washcloth. "I want you to understand, kid, that I am being _very_ lenient with you right now. If Sam had his way, you wouldn't be able to sit for quite some time. However, I see this whole thing as a form of complex lie, and since you haven't put as much effort into getting out of _discussions_ as much as you have this, I think an extra-long soaping will do. And since you've lied so goddamn much the past week trying to convince us you don't need this, I've come up with a new system to go with it."

Rafe eyed him warily then, but kept his mouth shut. If the old man was waiting for a prompting question then he wasn't going to get it.

After the bar was nice and soapy, Sully began to explain. "It's just like the baseball system. The first time you lie, that's strike one, and we'll use the green cloth for it. That's just a normal mouth-washing. The second time, we use a yellow cloth. That means that after you get your mouth washed, before you can rinse it out, we're going to have a short _talk_. Third strike is red, and that's when you get to keep the soap in your mouth during a much longer talk. The whole thing resets at the end of the day. Do you understand that?"

Rafe's expression went from shock to anger before settling on contempt. They were subtle changes, and people who didn't know him probably wouldn't have even noticed. "You don't need to be patronizing with the colors," he scowled. "I know how to keep count."

Sully raised a brow. That wasn't the first thing he expected the kid to complain about. "That's more for mine and Sam's benefit than yours," he told him, "That way we open the drawer and know exactly which level you're at, in case of any miscommunication, like if you're trying to tell us differently."

"Sullivan," Rafe smiled darkly, "I would never try to outsmart you two. Clearly, you're the superiors."

"Don't get all sentimental," Sully held the bar of soap in the cloth. "Open up."

Rafe's eyes shifted between Sully and the soap. He didn't trust this development at all. Logically, one form of soap shouldn't taste any worse than the other, but he couldn't believe that this was all he was getting after being found out. Besides, by now Sully had to know that his willingness in those previous… incidents… had been an act. He wasn't docile by any means, and didn't want them to think that he would go along with just _anything_.

On the other hand, if this _was_ just a case of the old man going soft on him, he didn't want to screw it up and get with something worse. There was also the ever-present danger of them thinking they could actually _intimidate_ him with these threats.

"Please tell me you're planning on using that washcloth instead of shoving that whole thing in my mouth."

Sully shook his head. "You're the one who wanted to mess with the old way. Now you have to deal with this."

Rafe held out his hand. "Then at least let me do it. My gag reflex isn't exactly experienced at things like this."

"I'm sure you'll live," Sully told him. "Enough stalling. Open your mouth."

Rafe hesitated for a split-second, then straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and opened.

"Thank you." Sully didn't give him a chance to change his mind. He pushed the square of soap in his mouth and pressed down to rub it over his tongue.

Rafe resisted the urge to spit it out right away. It tasted just as foul as he remembered, maybe even worse. He could feel a thick coating of slime cover his tongue from the bar, overwhelming his taste buds and causing his face to turn red and his eyes to water immediately.

Then, when he thought that Sully was done, that sonuva bitch just _left_ it in his mouth! He took the washcloth away and threw it in the sink, but the bar stayed put.

"Don't spit it out until I tell you to," Sully warned him while rinsing his hands off. "Lean over the sink if you have to- actually, I'd advise that, since you definitely don't want to swallow too much- but leave it in your mouth, unless you want to go through this again for twice the amount of time. Trust me, it's going to be long enough as is."

Rafe glared at him, fighting hard to keep his reflexes under control. As soon as Sully moved out of the way, he went over to the sink and gripped both sides, bracing his weight against it. He refused to look up at himself in the mirror, instead he looked down and concentrated on not vomiting.

He was tempted to just throw the bar of soap down and refuse to participate in this, but he knew that would be futile, and he would just end up back in the same position, only more sore this time. Sully really _was_ a stubborn old man. Besides, _that_ would just show the others how much he hated this, and he knew they would use that to their advantage. He just had to make it through the first time and show that it wasn't a problem for him.

Sully stood by the doorway, giving him space. He glanced at his watch. The poor kid was going to have to put up with this for five minutes if he was good, ten if he didn't cooperate. That was a _long_ time, but there was no doubt that he deserved it. He had a lot of fake punishments that he had to make up for now. Still, Sully wasn't going to make it any harder on him than he had to, so he was going to keep to the side and stay quiet, giving Rafe the ability to pretend he wasn't there.

After the first agonizing minute passed, Rafe squeezed his eyes shut. The pungent taste was making his mouth water, and drool was just dripping from his mouth, down the bar, and into the sink. It was completely undignified, and he didn't even want to see himself like this, much less fathom the idea that someone else was witnessing it. The thought was too harrowing, so he shoved it to the back of his mind, never to be brought up again.

Right now he had to concentrate on staying still, trying not to cry, and doing whatever he could to alleviate his mouth. The soap was slippery, and he had to bite down on it a little to keep it from falling out- he did _not_ want to extend this punishment for _any_ amount of time- but that brought the discovery that by holding it in place with his teeth, he could press his tongue down in his mouth and keep it from touching the bar. Of course, _that_ meant that there was more room for drool to collect, but he had to choose the lesser of two evils here.

By the time the five minutes were up, tears were rolling down his face, his breath was ragged from the effort of keeping himself together, and his mouth was growing tired from staying open so long. His body actually convulsed a few times, trying to spit the soap out even when he told it not to. It was a relief when Sully grabbed the bar with the wash cloth again and told him he could let go.

He did, then dropped his head, keeping his eyes screwed shut. He held his breath to try and get it back under control. Even though the bar was gone, there was a thick coating of scum and suds all over his mouth, so it wasn't easy to recover.

Sully didn't comment. He grabbed one of the paper cups and filled it with water, then pressed it against Rafe's hand.

Rafe took it gratefully and immediately began to rinse the vulgar taste from his mouth. He only had two mouthfuls to wash with, but he was able to get most of the residue out with just that small amount. When he was done, he wiped his face on his sleeve, then finally opened his eyes again.

"You took that pretty well, kid," Sully put a hand on his shoulder.

Rafe glared and shrugged it off, unsure if Sully was being sarcastic or not. Either way, he didn't want the old man touching him, not after that experience.

"Don't look at me like that," Sully watched him, alert for any signs that Rafe might try to punch him again. "You brought it on yourself. Not even you can deny that."

Rafe didn't trust himself to speak, so he kept up the sullen glaring.

Sully shook his head. "I told you before, I don't appreciate being manipulated. Don't try that again, Rafe. If you do anything to sabotage this bar then I'm just going to start using lard." He doubted Rafe's west-coast mentality would be able to handle _that_ one.

Rafe's eyes widened, and he gagged, then dry-heaved over the sink. That might have been an empty threat, but he felt sick just from the idea.

Sully immediately put his hand on his back to steady him, but Rafe pulled away again. Alright, he was mad, and Sully could understand that. He'd need some time to recover from this indignity. That was fine, as long as he didn't start throwing his fists around again, or scheming. "You can go to your room if you want to," he said gently. "We're done now."

Rafe nodded an acknowledgement and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then left the bathroom without looking at the older man.

The familiar knot of anger was back, and much worse this time.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Rafe collapsed on his bed, panting heavily. He had spent the past twenty minutes taking his frustration out on his new punching bag, but even with the wraps and gloves on, he had to end his session early. His hands felt hot, the skin stinging while deeper down his bones ached, vibrating from the repeated impacts they had just endured. His arms and shoulders burned with exertion and would go limp if he tried to go on for any longer. They were just more reminders of how out-of-shape he had become over the past few months, and how badly he needed to re-train his body.

When his breathing calmed, he forced himself to sit up and slide the gloves off. He knew from experience that his hands would be bruising up, but he was a little surprised when he saw splotches of red on the bandages wrapped around his right hand. He had been so focused on his anger that he forgot he had injuries from punching the wall, and hadn't even registered the pain when his scabs split open. Lovely.

He could certainly feel it _now_ , and knew it would only get worse once the bruises actually set and his body fully assessed the damage. Oh well, it wasn't anything he couldn't live with, and at least the pain would be a distraction from the constant taste of soap in his mouth.

More than enough time had passed that it should have gone away by now, but it hadn't. He didn't understand why _soap_ , of all things, had such a long-lasting aftertaste. Not blueberries, not honey, not chocolate cordials- his _one_ junk food weakness- but _soap_. And, for some reason, bar soap was worse than the liquid stuff he'd had before. He'd been joking with Sully earlier, but now he really _did_ want some tea, if only to taste something else for a bit. It was bad enough that he was even willing to push back his shower to drink it first.

And the old man hadn't made an appearance yet.

Rafe sighed heavily and ripped the bandages off his hand. Sully had probably forgotten, as senile as he was, and that meant that he'd have to go and get it himself. He wasn't ready to see the others yet, but this was important, so he reluctantly got to his feet and opened his door.

He walked quietly down the hallway, hoping to get to the stove without having to interact with anyone. Thankfully, he was able to successfully get that far. There wasn't any sign of the other two, but he also didn't go out of his way to find them.

He had to stare at the stove for a minute before he could figure out how it turned on; it was an old gas stove, which was a serious health and safety hazard, in his opinion. Of course, no one actually asked his opinion before putting this place together, as he repeatedly found himself thinking.

The burner made a clicking sound before the fumes finally caught, and he adjusted the flames to something that looked manageable, then filled the teapot at the sink and put it on.

"Need help?"

Rafe felt his adrenaline spike from the sudden sound, but resisted the urge to whirl around. "You shouldn't do that. If I hit you on reflex because you decided to creep up on me, that's _not_ my fault."

Sam smirked to himself. _Right._ With all the sneaking around the brat did it was a miracle _he_ hadn't been punched yet, and he had no doubt Rafe wouldn't hesitate to use it against him if that ever did happen. Honestly, he hadn't meant to startle him. He just wasn't expecting Rafe to leave his room so soon, so when he heard the stove click on he had come to investigate. "I would've thought you'd be more than happy for a chance to punch me again."

Rafe turned his upper half around far enough to glare over at the other man. "I never said I wouldn't. I'm sure you'll be stupid enough to try it again, and I'll take full advantage next time. Where's Sully?"

"He's outside, enjoying a cigar," Sam answered, moving a little closer. "Said he needed to unwind a bit. He probably thought you'd still be sulking for a while."

"I wasn't," Rafe said pointedly, looking back down at the burner. "I don't _sulk_. I was exercising, something you should try out some time." He didn't like how close Sam was getting, so he took a step towards the cabinet where they kept the tea. That way he could get away from Drake without making it obvious that he wanted to.

There was suddenly a muffled slap and a sharp pain on his backside that sent him up on his toes. Rafe yelped and spun around to defend himself, only to see Sam standing right there in his personal space. A flush of embarrassment crept up his neck; he did _not_ appreciate getting caught off guard _again_ like that. He knew for a _fact_ that he wouldn't have made a sound if he knew it was coming. _Fucking Samuel._

He pressed back against the pantry door, but that didn't afford him a lot of room, and Sam just stepped closer to fill the gap. Rafe shot Sam a scathing glare and his fists clenched up, ready to hit the other man if he didn't get out of his face, but he forced himself to stay in check.

"You can go ahead and tell Victor about that if you want," Sam said nonchalantly, his arms crossed over his chest. "I personally think you got away easy with only getting your mouth washed out, so _that_ was just a warning from me. If you pull this kind of shit again- and I mean _any_ shit where you're sneaking around behind our backs, you and me are gonna have a problem."

They _already_ had a problem, but Rafe bit back the comment. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and refused to break eye contact, putting as much heat into his look as he could. There was no way in fucking hell he'd let Sam have this one.

Sam had studied his face for a few seconds to make sure he got the message, then stepped away, giving him room to breathe.

Rafe paused for a moment, not wanting to make too hasty a retreat, then slipped past him and turned off the stove. He wasn't in the mood for tea any more, no matter how badly his mouth tasted. He would just wait in his room for Sully to check on him, _if_ the old man didn't choke on throat cancer and die first.

* * *

Rafe sat stiffly on his bed, absent-mindedly rubbing his thumb across the tennis ball. He was agitated. Everything had been going as well as it could in this house, and it was becoming almost bearable to live there, but today all of his plans were going awry. As of right now, there was nothing he could do to release any of the frustration he felt. His hands were already too beat up to go another round on the bag; no matter how angry he was, it wasn't enough to risk permanent damage to them.

He needed to _think_ , damnit. He had to shut down his emotions and come up with a plan, but his fucking brain wasn't cooperating. It wanted to relive today's events instead, which only made the anger worse. If he couldn't count on his mind to be rational when it really needed to be, what was it good for?

He could think clearly enough to decide that he wasn't going to bother telling Sully about Sam's 'warning'. Nothing productive would come out of it- it'd only succeed in making him look petty and whiney. Rafe Adler was _not_ petty or whiney. It was better to keep quiet and deal with it in his own way, when the timing was right.

There was a knock at the door. _Finally_. "You can come in, Sullivan."

"Wrong one." Sam pushed the door open and stepped inside before Rafe could protest. He held up a glass filled with dark liquid and ice. "Here, try this. It'll help."

Rafe narrowed his eyes. He didn't want Sam in his room, ever, no matter what offerings he might be bringing. "No, thank you. I'm not interested. Go away and send Sully here."

Sam shook his head. Right. Rafe _didn't sulk_. "You do know that it takes more than five minutes to smoke a cigar, don't you? He buys the big ones; he'll be outside for an hour if he's in a rush, and he wasn't moving very fast when he left." He knew that Victor would have no problem setting it aside if Sam went out to get him, but he was letting him get some time to himself.

Sam had his doubts before coming in, knowing that he was the _last_ person Rafe wanted to see, but decided that if Rafe couldn't control himself for the three seconds it'd take to drop the drink off, then there really wasn't much hope of them being able to live peacefully for a year. He might as well _try_ to help.

When Rafe didn't reply, he continued. "You wanted some tea, right? This _is_ tea." Sam walked over towards the bed but kept himself at arm's length away from Rafe. Now was not the time to crowd him. "Strong, bitter, _cold_ tea, but it's tea. Trust me, this'll get cover up the taste better than what you were making. Ice gets your taste buds nice and numb, and it'll mask the flavor more than hot tea with cream; cream actually just makes it worse."

Rafe eyed Sam warily. There was only one way he could possibly know all that, unless he was just pulling it out of his ass.

"Benefits of growing up in a Catholic orphanage," Sam answered the unspoken question wryly. "Go on, take it. If it doesn't work, you don't have to drink it. But just _try_ it."

"No. Thank. You," Rafe ground out. At this point, he wasn't going to give Sam the courtesy of pretending he could stand him. He just wanted him to leave.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Ok," he said placatingly, holding a hand up, "I know you don't like me, and therefore don't trust anything to do with me. I get that, I do. But, for once, can we _please_ just cut the bullcrap? Let's pretend we already played the game, and vaguely made it understood that you're taking it under protest, that you don't owe me anything for this, and that it won't change the image you've got going on, whatever. Just take the drink for what it is. Please?"

Rafe scowled darkly, and Sam knew right away that he had said the wrong thing. "Alright, fine," he sighed before the brat could protest, "Well, Iam going to leave this glass here because I'm an asshole and I'm going to make you carry it all the way to the kitchen to put it in the sink." He set it on Rafe's nightstand. "If you bring it out later and it's empty, I'll just assume that you dumped the tea out the window while cursing my name. Okay?"

Rafe didn't respond verbally. He glared at the cup, sorely tempted to just push it off the nightstand, but this was his room and he didn't want it to be filled with broken glass, or deal with sticky floors if the liquid couldn't be cleaned properly. No, the best thing to do right now was just get Sam out of his room, even if the drink stayed. He gathered his annoyance inward and pushed it down, letting his face relax into a more neutral expression. "Thank you," he said politely. "You can go now."

Sam eyed Rafe, trying to gauge what he was thinking. He _hated_ when the brat did that- going from angry to… Business Rafe in a matter of seconds. That was the face that could either be plotting his death, hiding dangerous emotions that were on their way to exploding, or really _was_ just neutral. It was unnerving, and he couldn't trust him at all that way.

Then Sam noticed Rafe's right hand, gripping his tennis ball tightly, bright red drops sitting freely on the knuckles. "You're bleeding," he frowned, "I thought Victor patched that up?"

Rafe glanced down at his hand, then shrugged. "He did. I got rid of it. It's only a little blood; it'll dry soon." He didn't know why Sam felt the need to state the obvious. He knew the other man had seen more than his share of blood, enough that this shouldn't bother him.

Sam shook his head, incredulous. "All that bitching you do about healthy food and you're not worried about keeping that clean?" Maybe that was a little harsh, because Sam didn't mind making the food for him, and preferred the balance himself, but he didn't understand how Rafe could be a health nut and a germaphobe and _not_ be concerned about this.

Rafe scoffed. Right, _he_ was the bitchy one. "I'm fine. A little blood never hurt anyone." Wounds were temporary, therefore not a high priority for him. Things put into the body carried more weight than things the body lost, unless he was losing those things at an alarming rate. _Then_ he'd be worried. But he wasn't about to bleed out from a few grazes on his hand.

Besides, blood was a lesson. Every time he had ever bled in his life, it was because he failed at defending himself properly, or failed at being prepared enough. He'd learned a lot of lessons that way, from a young age up until now, and he wasn't going to shy away from it.

Not that _any_ of that was Sam's prerogative to know.

"Taking care of yourself never hurt anyone either," Sam said drily, but he sensed that he wasn't going to get through to Rafe at all with that argument, so it was back to the fun and games. "Well, _I_ don't want to deal with cleaning the blood stains out of your laundry, because I know _you_ don't know how to do it. Want me to patch it up again or do you want me to go get Victor?"

Rafe's eyes narrowed, but once again he suppressed it right away with the passive expression. "What makes you think I can't take care of it myself?"

"I never said you couldn't," Sam answered simply, "I just don't trust you with the first aid kit to yourself."

Rafe took a deep breath and pushed himself up on his feet. He dropped his tennis ball on the bed, then nodded towards the door. "Get the kit. You can watch me if you want, as long as you don't micromanage like you do with the dishes. Let the old man enjoy his break."

* * *

The tea _did_ help, as much as Rafe didn't want to admit it. After Sam had finally left him alone, he let the glass sit on his nightstand tantalizing him for a full three minutes before he gave in. At that point, the bitter taste in his mouth drove him to try _anything_ to get rid of it, even one of Sam's remedies.

And, somehow, the fucker was right.

He forced himself to take slow sips instead of gulping it down, letting the liquid sit in his mouth and cover up the taste before swallowing. As soon as he did that, the soap would come back in full force, completely unrelenting. He wanted the respite to last as long as possible.

When the tea was gone he resorted to sucking on the ice cubes. They helped a little bit because he couldn't taste much when his mouth was freezing, but those didn't last very long. After the glass was empty and his mouth warmed back up, the lingering taste of soap returned.

And, damn him, Sully hadn't returned at all to check on him and see if he wanted more. Rafe was miffed. It wasn't exactly that he wanted to see the old man; he was still angry over the whole soap thing, and was more than happy on his own. It was just… It wasn't _protocol._

That had settled it for Rafe. Something had to be done.

When the old man finally did stop by to announce that it was dinner time, he somehow made it through the meal without incident, giving no indication that he was still fuming. He ignored most attempts at conversation, and all of Sullivan's probing questions about how he was doing. He didn't eat much, because not a lot of food paired well with soap, it turned out. He _did_ have a lot more of the cold tea when Sam offered it, though. Drake had brewed a pitcher, and Rafe drank through two more glasses of it, hoping his relief wasn't as obvious as it felt.

He went back to his room almost immediately after, and only left it again to brush his teeth and use the bathroom before he was locked in his room for the night. Not even toothpaste could make the damn taste go away. If it wasn't gone when he woke up in the morning, he'd go insane.

Rafe woke up to darkness, and when he looked over at his clock it told him that it was only one in the morning. He groaned and flopped his arm across his eyes. Insomnia had been somewhat of a chronic issue for him since he was a teenager. It didn't happen every night; more like during periods of time when he was less active than usual. His parents had taken him to an expert, who said it was because he thought too much and his mind had trouble shutting down for the night. He had been prescribed sleeping pills, but even back then he refused to take them. He didn't need the risk of addiction and didn't like the idea of being dependent on anything.

Even if he _wanted_ them, though, he wasn't entirely sure his father would have filled the prescription, for the exact same reasons.

He was pretty certain that he needed less sleep than normal people, anyway. He took good care of his body and ate well, so it made sense that he'd need less recovery time while he slept. Lying awake a few hours at night wasn't necessarily a bad thing, either. It turned into time of reflection, where he could go over things in his head and make plans when necessary; there were less distractions in the middle of the night than during the middle of the day. It only became a problem when he dwelled on things instead of coming up with ways to recover and keep them from happening again.

Unfortunately for him, right now dwelling was all his mind wanted to do. Too many events had gone sour that day, and he couldn't figure out exactly where it all went to shit.

And that _fucking taste_ was still present. Not as intensely as before, but just enough that he was aware of it.

He could hear both Sully and Sam happily snoring in their own rooms; the walls practically shook with the sounds. No matter what happened, those two never seemed to have trouble sleeping. Probably too much alcohol and smoke damage to their organs. He imagined it would take their bodies a lot of effort to catch up on healing. Plus, it wasn't like either of them did nearly enough thinking to keep them awake; half the time he doubted if there was anything on their minds at all. Maybe if they _were_ awake and had to be alone with their thoughts for a few seconds, they'd know how idiotic this whole scheme of keeping him there for a year really was.

The thought echoed in his mind. There was something there… Not the part where they'd finally see how stupid this all was, he wasn't _that_ optimistic, but the image of having them awake right now had triggered an idea. It wasn't a smart plan, and it did nothing really to improve his situation, but it _would_ be a start at getting back at them for the day, and it would be satisfying as _fuck_ if he followed through.

He glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside. He'd wait a few more hours to execute it; it wasn't quite late enough to have the effect he wanted it to. Besides, he had to tweak a few details first. He didn't want to find himself in trouble _again_.

* * *

When his clock showed three, Rafe felt pretty good about his plan, and was ready to put it in action. He got himself out of bed and walked over to the door, then pressed his ear against it to listen. The two other men were still snoring away, without a care in the world. Perfect.

His hand found the light switch and he closed his eyes before flicking it on. When he adjusted to the little amount of light that his lids let through, he opened his eyes and let them re-adjust to the full intensity of his room's lights. Once he felt comfortable being able to see, he was ready.

He clenched his good hand into a fist and slammed it against his door. "Hey, old man!" he called loudly. "Get up and let me out!"

The snoring stopped abruptly, but he continued to knock anyway. He didn't stop until he heard the click of the lock, then his door was unceremoniously pushed open. A very grumpy looking Sully was standing on the other side.

"What the goddamn hell is the matter?" Victor growled, his eyes screwed up from the flood of light coming out of the room.

Rafe lowered his arm, which had been raised to knock again, and looked at him calmly. "I need to use the bathroom."

"You woke me up in the middle of the goddamned night because you have to pee?" Sully asked, voice muddled with disbelief.

"What were you expecting?" Rafe shrugged. "It's not my fault you keep me locked in here. Maybe you should have given me my own bathroom if you didn't want this to happen."

Sully pinched the bridge of his nose and stepped to the side. He was tired and his mind was sluggish, and he really hadn't known what to expect when he was jolted awake by Rafe's ruckus. Somehow, he had assumed it was an emergency. "Alright, go ahead. Be quick about it."

Rafe stepped past him into the hallway and smirked to himself once the bathroom door was safely closed behind him. Judging by how dazed and annoyed the old man had looked, he had interrupted a pretty good dream. Sully was irritated, but couldn't rightly do anything to him. He had a legitimate reason to wake him up.

Of course, he didn't _really_ have to go, but he was able to muster up a convincing stream just for the sake of appearances.

While he was going, he heard two voices in the hallway. Good, that meant Drake had woken up too. Hopefully he was just as annoyed as Sully was, and just as frustrated that he couldn't do anything about it.

When his reserves were empty, he flushed, washed his hands, and went back to the hallway. Sully was still standing there, looking less aggravated than he had when he first saw him, and Sam was nowhere to be seen. It had been a short conversation, but whatever was said had calmed the old man down. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"Thanks," Rafe said casually, pausing at his doorway. "I was serious earlier, you know. You really should have given me the master suite since you planned on locking me up every night."

Sully snorted and shook his head. "Sorry kid, no bathroom attached to my room either. That's the only one in the house."

Rafe rolled his eyes. _Of course_ it was. Everywhere he looked in this house he saw poor planning; an eighteen-year-old with three kids had better foresight than these two did. "Right. Get back to your beauty sleep, old man. You need it." He walked back into his room, hearing Sully mutter something that sounded like 'smartass' as the door was shut and locked behind him.

If the old man was this irate now, Rafe couldn't wait to see how he got when he woke him up again tomorrow, and every other time that he had trouble sleeping after that.

* * *

He was able to keep it up for all of two nights.

On the third night, fifteen minutes before lockdown, Sam approached Rafe at the couch.

The brat had no problem sitting out in the living room with Sully to read so long as Sam wasn't there, and at this point Sam didn't mind it much. He'd prefer it if Rafe didn't hate his existence, but he had a year to work on it, and at least the kid was comfortable enough around Sully that the old man could keep an eye on him. The evening weather was pleasant enough for a walk and a smoke, and there were plenty of things Sam could do in his room by himself. Let Victor deal with Rafe's silent presence.

But now he had to interrupt, because there was something important that had to be addressed, and he was going to do it in front of Sully so Rafe couldn't use it against him later. He looked down at the younger man and crossed his arms. "Go and pee."

Rafe had been pretending that he didn't know Drake was there, but after that statement he couldn't just ignore him. He scowled and looked up from his book. "Excuse me?"

"We're not repeating last night," Sam said evenly. "Get up and pee before you have to go to bed." After a week of hearing nothing from the brat when he was locked in, two nights in a row was too much of a coincidence for it to be a fluke. He'd bet a lot of money that Rafe was trying out a new way to wear them down and get under their skin; it'd be easier to pull one over on them if they were half asleep all the time. If that was the case, he wanted to nip it in the bud right now. If it _wasn't_ then Sam was going to start cutting him off from drinking so much tea.

Rafe scoffed derisively and looked back at his current page. "I don't have to right now, not that it's any of your business. You don't get to tell me when to take a bathroom break."

Sam straightened his back and squared his shoulders, taking full advantage of their height difference to remind Rafe he could drag him to the bathroom if he had to. "Try," he said firmly, "Because you're not getting another chance after this. If you wake us up again tonight because you have to pee, I'm going to introduce you to that spoon. If you at least _try_ to go now and still have to go later, I'll be more sympathetic." He felt like he was arguing with his kid brother all over again. Rafe was far too old for him to have to say shit like that.

Rafe glanced up, taking in his stance, then looked over at Sully. He narrowed his eyes and waited to see what the old man thought about that. He _couldn't_ be 'talked to' for having to go to the bathroom.

Sully had been listening carefully, ready to calm either one of them down if he had to, and now he was peering at them over the top of his newspaper. Neither of them were happy. That wasn't exactly unusual.

If Sam had spoken with him first, he could have told him that he'd been planning on speaking to Rafe quietly about his recent nighttime urgencies, but apparently Sam decided to take matters into his own hands instead. It _should_ have been a private conversation, not public- or as public as it could be with three people there, anyway. And this whole thing was in the grey area between telling a lie and showing disrespect. It had to be handled delicately.

Sam's way was anything but delicate, but he couldn't disagree with the motivation. He was going to have to talk with Sam _again_ about using tact, but now he was half-tempted to leave it to the two of them to work things out on their own. Let it explode once, and maybe they'd both learn from it.

But it wasn't the time for that. Rafe's trust would never recover.

He cleared his throat. "Neither of us can tell you what to do with your bladder, kid, but it won't hurt to try going. If my sleep gets interrupted for another night then I won't be the nicest guy to live with," he said gently. Of course, he knew chances were that Rafe didn't have to go, but he was giving him an out. "You could probably use a full night, too."

Rafe shook his head and looked back at his book. "I am _not_ having this conversation with either of you," he said decisively.

"Alright, your choice," Sam conceded, then glanced at the clock. "You have ten minutes to change your mind."

Rafe didn't respond, choosing to ignore him. He knew that they would figure it out eventually, but it had been fun while it lasted. That didn't excuse the way Sam spoke to him, or how Sully sat back and let it happen. He still didn't believe that a spoon could be so bad, but he didn't want to give Sam the chance to do _anything_ to him.

He would come up with a different plan to get back at Sully later. For now, he had Sam in his immediate sights, and he knew _exactly_ what to do to get back at him for this.

It was even less cunning than his last plan, and exactly as useless, but it was going to drive Sam crazy, and right now that was enough for him.

* * *

Sam had just finished making his breakfast the next morning when Rafe ambled out of his room. Somehow, even without taking the chance to pee before going to bed, the brat had managed to get through the night without waking anyone. It was a _goddamned miracle._

Sam paused at that thought, then grimaced. _Great_. Now he was starting to think like Victor. He hoped that wasn't going to be a lasting side effect of living with him; he'd managed to survive it when he was younger, but he also had spent as much time avoiding Victor as he could back then. After all, it was only common sense to avoid middle-aged men with mustaches and a strange interest in kids- something that his little brother had, apparently, never learned, but fortunately it didn't turn out the way Sam was afraid it would.

He put a cup of coffee and a bowl of fruit in front of Rafe. Sully was already at the table with scrambled eggs and bacon. "Good morn-"

"Morning," Rafe interrupted without looking up from the table, then he picked up the cup of coffee to take a sip without further acknowledgement.

Sam only hesitated for a second before shrugging it off. Rafe wasn't ever really up to carrying on a conversation anyway. "You want yogurt or someth-"

"No," Rafe answered around the mug. "Fruit is fine. I'm not that hungry."

Sam took a deep breath and tried not to let it bother him. "Mhm." He carried his own breakfast to the table and sat down.

Sully was munching contentedly on a rasher. "Morning, kid," he nodded, looking over at Rafe with some amusement. "Looks like you slept pretty well last night."

Rafe graced Sully with a small smile as he set his coffee back down. "Good morning, Sully," he nodded. "I did, thank you."

Sam scoffed. Yeah, no kidding- they _all_ slept better last night. "I wonder-"

"How about you?" Rafe kept his eyes focused on Sully. He didn't even glance Sam's way.

Sam closed his mouth. Now he was peeved, but telling Rafe to knock it off wasn't worth the headache.

Sully smirked. "You keep that up and I'm not going to stop whatever he decides to do," he warned Rafe lightly while gesturing at Sam. "No ignoring, remember? But I slept well enough, thank you."

"I'm ignoring him?" Rafe sat back in his chair and looked between the two. "I answered all your questions, didn't I?"

"You did," Sam agreed. He glanced at Sully, taking the other man's previous statement as permission to put an end to it if he wanted to. "Not politely, but y-"

"And that's all I have to do," Rafe continued speaking. "So, as far as the rules you laid out for me, I'm not doing anything wrong."

Sully couldn't stop from chuckling a little. The kid was bold, at the very least. Acting like a six-year-old, yes, but bold nonetheless. "I know you don't really believe that, but it's your choice. I've said my piece."

This was harmless enough, so he felt safe letting it play out. Sully knew Sam pretty well, and he knew that _if_ Sam retaliated, he wasn't going to overreact. Besides, if Rafe was mad at Sam, then at least he had found a way to express it other than using his fists. If he wasn't mad and was just bored then maybe this would help the two of them learn how to interact better.

Either way, it was something entertaining to go with breakfast.

* * *

By the end of the meal, Sam was about to go insane. Even when he was trying to talk to Victor, Rafe would cut him off before he got to finish his thought. The brat never attempted to speak at any other time, only when _he_ was trying to say something. He _knew_ Rafe was doing it to annoy him, and the worst part was that it worked like a charm.

Well, no, the _worst_ part was that Victor was watching this whole thing and not even trying to help. The old bastard just took everything in with a smirk on his face, like he found it all to be endearing. No wonder Rafe was still so spoiled.

If Sully wasn't going to do something, _he_ was. Two could play at this game. Rafe had figured out one of his pet peeves, one that not even _Nate_ was foolish enough to exploit, but Sam already knew plenty of things that Rafe didn't like, too.

When breakfast was over and Rafe was waiting for them to leave the kitchen so he could do his one chore, Sam stood up and stretched. "Hey, Rafe, come-"

"I was already going to wash the dishes," Rafe said defensively.

"That's not what-"

"I have plenty of time and I don't need you to watch me." He flashed Sam a warning look as he carried his plate to the sink. He would _not_ appreciate a back-seat dish washer today.

Sam bit back what he was going to say and nodded. Fine, he could work with that. He walked over and quietly stood behind Rafe, waiting for him to turn back around from the sink. He heard Sully shift in his seat, probably getting ready in case he had to step in.

Rafe jumped slightly when he saw him, then scowled. His hands were too full of dishes to be able to pull off a 'surprised' punch, so he slowly set them down in the sink and turned to face him, not even trying to step away.

Apparently, he learned not to turn his back last time. Sam stayed quiet long enough for Rafe to sweat a little, then, suddenly, he reached out.

Rafe braced himself for a hit, but there was never an impact. What happened was _worse._

Sam had quickly grabbed the back of his head with one hand and the other snaked around his waist to pull him in a tight hug. For a moment, Rafe was completely frozen with shock. Then the outrage kicked in.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" he protested loudly, turning his head so his face wasn't smashed against Sam's chest. He brought his hands up and pushed as hard as he could to get free.

Sam didn't budge. "Calm down, it's only a hug," he said soothingly, resting his chin on top of Rafe's head to help keep it in place. "Whenever Nate started annoying me on purpose like that, he usually just wanted some attention. Is that what you want, Rafe?"

"I will _murder_ you," Rafe hissed vehemently, thrashing around as much as he could in the grip. "I'm not your fucking brother! Let me go right _fucking_ now!" He planted his feet on the floor and leaned back, testing how far he could go.

He was able to gain a little distance between them, but then Sam dropped his hand down from the back of his head to wrap it around his shoulders and squeezed tighter, lifting him to his toes in the process.

"I know," Sam grunted, "He wouldn't mind this nearly as much as you do. I'll ask again, is this what you wanted?"

Rafe growled with indignance. Now he was pressed up against Sam even _more_ , completely engulfed in the hug. He squirmed, trying every angle for a chance to get free.

When his efforts proved futile and Rafe began to still, Sam dropped his head down so he could speak directly in Rafe's ear. He felt him tense up even further, if such a thing was possible. "I take that as a no," he said. "Does that mean you're going to stop interrupting me?"

Rafe began to struggle with renewed energy, pushing at, kicking, or grabbing what he could to use as an advantage, but Sam just tightened his grip and waited it out. Finally, Rafe went limp, realizing there was no other way out of this.

"I can keep this up all day, you know," Sam said pointedly.

Rafe stayed quiet, seething.

"You gonna stop interrupting me now? Yes or no?"

"…Yes," Rafe answered weakly.

"Good. 'Cause I'll just do this again next time, but I'll hold onto you for much longer." Sam dropped him back on his feet and took a step away to give him some space.

Rafe didn't bother to look at him, or at Sully. He ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it back in place and stalked over to the sink, his back to them. He crossed his arms, signaling that he wanted them to leave. _Now_.

Sam glanced at Victor and was a bit relieved when he saw him making a valiant effort not to laugh.

Sully knew that Rafe would _never_ forgive him if he so much as snorted. The kid was going to be mad about the hug for a while, and he'd have to go and unruffle his feathers later, but he had to admit that Sam _did_ put an end to it without sacrificing anything more than a little of both their dignity. That would be easily mended over a cup of tea in the kid's room. Maybe leaving them to their own devices wasn't as disastrous as he thought it would be.

He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his coffee to take it to the living room so Rafe could recover in peace, and Sam followed him out.

They had just settled down in the living room when the back door slammed open. Heavy footsteps crossed the kitchen floor, paused, and marched right back to the door. There was the loud clatter of metal slamming into wood, then a sickening crunch.

"I'm going to my room," Rafe called from the kitchen. "I'm going to leave the door open, and I'm going to sit on my bed and wait."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

*A/N: And now, the update you've all been waiting for. Enjoy!*

* * *

Sully and Sam looked at each other. That crash from the kitchen did _not_ sound good, and Rafe's statement was even more disquieting.

The elder Drake was the first to react. He shot up from the couch and was in the kitchen before Sully even made it out of his chair. Sam quickly glanced around to assess the situation; the kitchen entrance to the house was wide open, but nothing else was obviously out of place. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look around more slowly and carefully, taking a mental inventory. Then his eyes swept over the stove, and he got the nagging feeling in his gut that something wasn't right.

Something _definitely_ wasn't right. The nagging feeling clenched into a knot the moment he realized exactly what was wrong, and his jaw tensed involuntarily. Rafe wouldn't _dare_.

"Sam?" Sully had finally joined the other man in the kitchen. He didn't know if it was his age catching up to him, or the fact that he really didn't want to know what happened even if it was his job to, but it had been a struggle to get to his feet. Next time, he'd choose a less comfortable chair for himself.

It was clear from Sam's body language that he had figured it out, but for the life of him, Sully couldn't see anything wrong. _Especially_ not anything that would have the other man's temper rising so quickly. There were very few things in the world that could make Sam react like that. Yelling and pacing and complaining was one thing, but freezing up was something completely different. "What in the goddamn hell did he do?"

Instead of answering, Sam shook his head and walked over to the doorway. He didn't trust himself to speak right now, not if his suspicions were correct. Victor cursed under his breath and started to follow behind him, but Sam barely registered it. All he cared about was what he would see outside.

He strode out onto the porch, then stopped abruptly; so quickly that Sully bumped into his back and cursed again, but he didn't even feel it. All of his focus was on the object he saw lying on the pathway that led up to the porch; his prized stainless-steel-lined copper cooking pan, now rendered completely useless. The handle had snapped off entirely and was sitting haphazardly on the porch by a large score in the wood where it had made impact, which was what caused the first sound they had heard. The second sound was evident in center of the pan itself where it had caved in from another blow.

Sully looked over Sam's shoulder and took in the scene. "Oh, _goddamnit_ ," he muttered under his breath.

Sam's hands clenched and unclenched reflexively. Both his palms and his knuckles were itching to inflict some damage, and he honestly wasn't sure which urge would win. "That _brat…_ "

"Sam…"

"Victor, I'm going to _kill_ him!"

"Sam, you need to calm down." Sully put his hand on Sam's shoulder to get his attention, but Sam immediately shrugged it off. He wasn't going to be placated that easily.

"I was being _nice_ , Victor! I could have swatted him for that whole interrupting nonsense, and this is what he does?" Sam ground his teeth. "This is what I get for doing things your way."

"Don't try to put this one me. You've been fighting doing things my way from the beginning, and _you're_ the one he did this to," Sully said evenly. He stepped in front of Sam to block his view of the pan and force the younger man to look at him. "I know you're angry. I know _why_ you're angry. You really need to calm down, though, before you do something you'll regret. Go take a walk, have a cigarette, _relax_. Don't come back until you've sorted out your priorities."

Sam narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "A smoke won't be enough, Victor. That pan was _seasoned_."

Sully looked him over, weighing out a decision, then finally gave in and reached in his pocket, producing a cigar. " _This_ will be enough, then. You know Rafe is going to be punished, you're just not the right person to do it right now. That pan can be replaced, and you don't even have to worry about the cost. Whatever you do to the kid when you're like this _can't_ be easily fixed, though. So, go, take a nice, long walk, and I will have a talk with him while you're out."

 _That_ caused Sam to snap out of it. He could remember all of three times in his life when Victor had given him one of his cigars. Once was out of celebration when they finished a particularly difficult job with a high payoff, and the other two were after times Victor had helped him get rid of a _lot_ of guilt, and the cigars were the only acts of comfort his younger self would accept from the man.

Sully's offer was enough to make his temper drop, and he took a deep breath before nodding. "You know, it's kinda hard to remember we have money at our disposal now," he said quietly as he took the cigar from Victor's hand. As his brain kicked back into gear and everything sunk in, he was starting to feel a little embarrassed that he had let himself get that angry in the first place. "Fine. I'll let you know what I want as a replacement when I get back."

"Good," Sully said, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "You do that."

Sam glanced at the pan again. Even if he was calmer, he still didn't like what the brat had done. He _really_ needed to learn his lesson this time, and Sam wanted to make sure Victor was on the same page as he was. He turned and walked back into the kitchen, despite Sully's protests that he was heading the wrong way. He was back on the porch a few seconds later with the wooden spoon in hand, giving Victor a pointed look.

Sully looked at the spoon and nodded as he took it, agreeing to the unspoken request. Sam wordlessly take off down the path, apparently satisfied, and Sully went back into the house, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Rafe was sitting on his bed, his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He could admit that he _may_ have let his temper get the best of him for a moment, and destroying that pan wasn't the _smartest_ thing to do in his circumstances, but he didn't think anyone could blame him for losing control after what happened.

Well, no one _sane_ could. He was sure Drake and the old man would have no problem finding fault with his actions.

Whatever. Let them do what they wanted to; he wasn't going to beg for mercy, or make excuses for himself. He had made his bed while knowing the rules of this house, so he'd lie in it without a fuss. Whatever Sam did in retaliation would just get added to the long list of grievances he had been keeping in his head, and he'd correct it all once he got out of this fucking place.

His leg ached, making his mood that much worse. It hadn't been his brightest idea to stomp on the metal pan with no more shock protection than the sock on his foot, but thankfully he didn't think he broke anything. He didn't want to imagine what it would be like hobbling around with a broken leg for the next few months; it would only add to the indignity.

A knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts, and he couldn't deny feeling a bit relieved when he saw Sullivan standing there. He hadn't been able to listen in on the conversation between the two other men, but he had been fully expecting Samuel to come barging in on him.

Then he saw what the old man had in his hand. Rafe furrowed his brows in confusion. "What the _hell_ are you holding, Sully? Did Sam put you up to that?"

"He did," Sully confirmed as he stepped in and closed the door behind him, "But I probably would have used it anyway. You really poked the bear with this one, kid."

Rafe shook that mental image out of his head. "It's a _spoon_. I can understand Sam being stupid enough to wave it around, but I don't know how he could have convinced you to go along with it too."

Sully resisted the urge to smirk, knowing Rafe would not take that lightly. "I guess you'll find out what the big deal is, won't you?" He set the object in question down on Rafe's nightstand. The kid could focus on worrying over that in a few minutes, but right now he wanted to talk. "You want to tell me what was going through your head to make you pull that stunt out there?"

Rafe eyed the spoon distrustfully. "No," he answered shortly.

Sully nodded and sat down next to him on the bed. That was the answer he was expecting, but he had to ask anyway. He saw Rafe tense up, but the kid made no effort to move. "You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

That question caught Rafe off guard. He took his eyes off the spoon long enough to glance sideways at the older man. "Nothing beyond a bruise or two and some minor swelling. It should go away by tomorrow."

Sully reached for Rafe's hands to check for himself. The kid had already banged them up pretty badly with the wall and then the punching bag, after all, and he wanted to make sure there wasn't any further damage. "Let me see."

Rafe leaned away and tightened his arms across his chest, giving Sully a reproving look. "It's on my leg, and I'm _not_ letting you see it, so don't even try."

"Your leg?" Sully frowned, then it dawned on him. "You _stomped_ on it?"

"You thought I punched it?"

"Of all the goddamn idiotic…" Sully pinched the bridge of his nose. "You probably fractured your tibia, Rafe."

"I didn't," Rafe stated, "And I fail to see how that's worse than punching it with my hand. You know, the part that has smaller, more crack-able bones in it."

Sully gave him a look. "I didn't think you punched it, I thought you were swinging it at the ground, and the handle flew up and hit you or something. You're gonna need to get some X-Rays done- I'll have to tell Nadine to bring a machine over."

"I can put my full weight on my leg, and there's no sharp pain," Rafe insisted. "I didn't have any trouble coming from the porch to my room, either. I don't need anyone coming here to look at me." Especially not after what he knew was coming in a few minutes.

Sully didn't like it, but he gave in. "Fine. Keep an eye on it, though. If your leg starts to swell then I'm getting a doctor here to come look at you. And don't even think about trying to hide it from me, either. If I catch you having trouble walking because of your leg and you didn't tell me, you'll be lucky if I _only_ use the spoon on you."

Rafe looked at him, trying to discern if that was an empty threat. He didn't have any frame of reference for the spoon, but the old man seemed completely serious. But _how_? "If anything happens, I'll tell you," he said begrudgingly, "But nothing _will_ happen. I'm fine."

"Right," Sully sighed. "Well, if you're _sure_ you're alright, and you don't want your leg looked at, then I guess we can move on." He sat up straight and put his hand on Rafe's shoulder to hold his attention, ignoring how stiff the kid became at the touch.

"Look, kid, part of this is my fault. I can accept that. Even if I said I wouldn't stop him if you kept it up, I should have made Sam let you go. I know you hate being touched by most people and I should have known how stressed you'd get from the hug. Hell, I probably should have stopped you from pissing Sam off so much in the first place. I was trying to be fair to you, kid, and I didn't want you to feel like I'm nit-picking everything you do, but I let it go too far. I failed you, and I'm sorry for that."

Rafe looked at him sharply. He never would have expected anything _close_ to that to come from either of the other men's mouths, _especially_ not when he was in trouble. No, it couldn't be genuine. This was all just a guilt tactic to make him feel like he deserved what was coming, that _had_ to be it.

He felt a little surge of satisfaction that he was able to see through it, and he held onto that feeling. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to jump in and say you did nothing wrong, and that it was all my fault? Because that's not going to happen."

"I was never going to ask you to," Sully shook his head. "Neither of us want any empty words right now. All I'm saying is that I'm sorry for what happened. But, that doesn't excuse what you did _after_ you were hugged."

Rafe scowled. "Don't use that word," he said flatly, "And I never asked for you to excuse me from anything. If you feel like it's your duty to have a 'talk' with me, then go ahead and get it over with. Don't patronize me by telling me why I'm in trouble right now. I _know_ what I did."

Sully nodded. "Alright, I can respect that. Are you going to make me fight you to get you over my lap again, or are you going to be nice to an old man and cooperate?"

Rafe looked away and stared at the wall for a long moment in thought. "You already know that I could get away if I felt the need to," he mused, "I don't need to waste the effort just to prove it again."

"Of course," Sully agreed, humoring him. "Not to mention that the longer you drag it out, the better the chance that Sam will be back from his walk before we're done here."

Rafe clenched his jaw, then nodded. That settled it. "I'm not just going to roll over for you, though." He couldn't just lay down over the old man's lap like a dog.

"That's fine, I'm not asking you to," Sully replied, gently taking Rafe by his arm, "All I want is for you not to fight me. I can do the rest."

Rafe nodded again and, to his credit, didn't resist. He let Sully lay him down across his lap and position him however he wanted, even going so far as to voluntarily scoot forward when Sully began to hoist him up by his hips. When he was settled, he crossed his arms on the bed in front of him and rested his chin on top. He wasn't going to make a scene or Sully was going to start thinking that he was scared of this whole process, and he couldn't have that. Besides, if the last talk with Sully was anything to go by, he needed to save his energy to make it through this one.

"I hope you're planning on getting a new spoon, because I'm not going to eat anything that gets cooked with that one after this," he said wryly.

Sully squeezed his shoulder for encouragement, appreciating how compliant he was being. "You do know you can't get back at an inanimate object like that, right?"

Rafe scoffed. "Not because I'm _mad_ , Sully, because of the _germs_."

Oh, right. _Of course_. "It's not like it won't get washed," Sully smirked. "And the cooking'll sterilize it." At the glare Rafe sent over his shoulder, he relented. "Alright, alright. I'll tell them to get us a new one when they send over the new pan."

That seemed to settle Rafe, and Sully didn't want to prolong it any further. He put his arm around the kid's waist to help him keep in place; he didn't think Rafe would try to jump up, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from moving completely, and it was easier for both of them if Sully helped keep him in place.

When everything was ready, he lifted his hand and brought it down hard across the center of the Rafe's bottom.

Rafe flinched, but it was more from the unfamiliar contact than from pain. As far as he could tell, what he thought was the spoon didn't seem any different than anything else he'd received. It certainly wasn't holding up to the status Sam and Sully had given it. He was suddenly a lot less worried about his ability to keep his composure throughout this punishment.

Sully continued warming him with his hand. It had been over a week since he'd had to do this last, which was a lot better than he was initially expecting, so at least there was a positive in all this. Unfortunately, that also meant that Rafe had a chance to heal fully and that it would take longer to get him to the breaking point. He wanted to give the kid a reminder of how bad his hand could hurt before he started using the spoon, then _maybe_ Rafe wouldn't try to bottle everything up for so long.

Besides, the wooden spoon always had a chance of bruising when it was being used, and with how stubborn Rafe was, that became a high possibility. Giving him a warm-up would diminish that chance, and Sully wanted to avoid it if he could. The poor kid had banged himself up enough as it was.

Rafe, for his part, was doing a fair job of keeping his body under control. He dug his fingernails into his arms and held his breath, tensing up, and was able to get through it with minimal movement, even though his ass was already beginning to feel the heat. The last time this had happened, he was still fairly fresh out of Nadine's prison cell. Now he'd had plenty of time to rebuild his strength and health, and _dammit,_ he was going to make it through this one without making a fool of himself.

Sullivan wasn't taking it easy on him, though. Right off the bat, he began targeting his upper thighs, which was the spot Rafe felt it the most. He had to concentrate on the pain of his fingernails just to keep himself from flinching from the pain in his ass, and his eyes inexplicably began to mist up even though he was willing them not too, but he managed to keep mostly still, and to keep actual tears from forming.

After a few minutes, when Sully could feel the kid moving more and more with each hit, and when his hand was throbbing with a decent amount of heat, Sully decided that was enough of a reminder. He stopped and rested his hand on Rafe's back, absent-mindedly rubbing circles to soothe the sting in his palm.

Rafe lifted his head, confused. He _knew_ the old man wouldn't be ending it that early. What was he playing at? False hope?

"I know you're a smart kid," Sully said, breaking the silence, "And I know you said you know why you're here right now, but, just to be fair, I'll ask you anyway. Is there any confusion as to why you're being punished?"

He stopped it to _talk._ Rafe thought he made it pretty clear he was done talking by now. "Not at all," he answered, making no effort to hide the annoyance in his voice. "It's because you're a hypocrite."

Sully snorted, partly from surprise and partly from amusement. "Oh really? Care to elaborate on that?"

Rafe shifted a little, readjusting himself so that Sully's leg wasn't digging into his ribcage. "Last time I broke something instead of someone, you told me I did the right thing. This time, I'm in trouble."

"Punching the wall is a bit different," Sully explained, "Smashing that pan because you knew it was Sam's favorite wasn't you re-directing your anger. It was retaliation, and you know that I won't stand for that in this house. That's the exact reason I got you that punching bag."

Rafe shrugged. "What can I say? It was more satisfying than the bag."

"I'm sure it was," Sully said, reaching for the spoon, "It also riled Sam up quite a bit. He didn't grow up in a home where broken things could be replaced instantly. He saw that pan and his first instinct was to think about the cost, and how long he'd have to work to be able to afford another one. I had to talk him down from coming in here and throttling you, so I hope it was worth it. But, you must have already decided it was, because you knew what would happen before you even did it. You chose this instead of being able to sit comfortably over the next few days."

"Yeah, you always say that," Rafe rolled his eyes. "I get it, I make bad decisions. I know you're not done yet, so stop talking to me and get it over with. I have better ways to spend my time."

"I just wanted to make sure you understood," Sully said. "I don't ever want you thinking I'm being unfair to you." He felt Rafe tense up completely at those words, and tightened his hold just in case the kid changed his mind about fighting.

"Just. Finish it," Rafe ground out through his teeth.

Alright, he was done talking. If he didn't want to drag it out, then Sully would accommodate him. He lifted the spoon up and brought it down hard on the center of his bottom, then paused to let Rafe absorb the impact.

Rafe's hips bucked forward and a jolt of shock went through him. His eyes opened wide and he _almost_ cursed out loud, but he choked it back just in time. It didn't feel like Sully hit him very hard, but now there was a small crescent of flesh that _burned_. That was _much_ worse than anything he'd felt so far. What. The. _Fuck_.

Sully saw Rafe cautiously peek over his shoulder, his red-rimmed eye focusing on the spoon in his hand. He braced himself, still expecting a fight, but instead the kid sighed heavily, his whole body slumping over, and he rested his forehead against his arms. If this was Nate over his lap, he'd expect a lot of complaining and plea bargaining before the younger Drake finally accepted it, but Rafe seemed to have no problem resigning himself to the new development.

Rafe groaned inwardly. _God-damned fucking shit_ , this was going to be a challenge. Even after one hit, he wasn't sure if he would make it. How the _fuck_ could a _fucking spoon_ hurt so badly? He was already half convinced that this one had a taser hidden in it somewhere.

Now that he knew Rafe's reaction, Sully began to spank him in earnest, spreading the hits out over his bottom to keep it from being too bad too quickly.

Rafe had to fight hard to keep still. This was much more difficult to take than both of his talks before. He almost lost the will to stay in control, and the _real_ part had barely started. It wasn't _just_ that the spoon hurt more, but it was _jarring_. He couldn't simply block the pain out and concentrate on keeping still like he could before, no matter how hard he gripped his arms. It was all he could do to keep from _kicking_ like he was some fucking _child._

Sully held Rafe firmly to his side. The kid was moving around a lot more than he had before, and he knew for sure that Rafe wasn't doing it on purpose. The wooden spoon seemed to have the desired effect on him, and hopefully it meant that he would be better at curbing that temper of his in the future. With any luck, he would also run out of energy a lot sooner, and the spanking wouldn't have to last so long. That would be a relief for both of them.

Rafe lasted three full minutes without making a sound aside from breathing heavily, alternating between tensing his body and holding himself relatively still, to collapsing and squirming when he couldn't take it anymore. He had lost track of just how long he had been there, or why, exactly, throwing that pan had seemed so important not too long ago. When Sully began concentrating on his thighs again, he uncrossed his arms and wrapped them around his head, trying to hide the tears that he knew he wouldn't be able to hold back any longer.

Finally, they began freely flowing down his face, and the sobs weren't long to follow. Another minute of that, and his body gave in and collapsed over Sully's lap.

Sully immediately set the spoon down and began to rub Rafe's back. His shirt was damp with sweat. _Goddamn it, kid._ Someday, hopefully soon, Rafe would learn not to do this to himself. The exhaustion that came with holding it all in like that couldn't be healthy, and he had to know by now that nobody cared if he let it out.

He rubbed circles until he felt Rafe start to pull himself together, then he helped him off of his lap and onto his bed where he'd be more comfortable. As soon as Rafe could bury his face in his pillow, the crying subsided and he was able to get himself back under a semblance of control.

Sully sat on the bed quietly and ran his hand up Rafe's spine to the back of his head. Even if he wasn't crying, that didn't mean he was ready to talk yet, so Sully was going to give him some time to recover. When he was met with no signs of protest, he began to rub back down his spine, until about halfway down when Rafe leaned back into his hand. Sully took that as a request and concentrated his efforts there until Rafe's breathing returned to something close to normal. "Are you ready for tea now, kid?"

Rafe nodded tiredly, so Sully withdrew his hand and stood up. "Alright, I'll be right back."

* * *

Not too much later, Rafe lay on his stomach with a mug cradled in his hand. His ass was _sore_ \- it felt like it was literally singeing. He had the irrational thought that if he reached back to rub the sting away, he'd find that he had no skin left at all. He knew that wasn't true, but he still resisted the urge.

The next time he had to wash dishes, he was going to take that fucking spoon and throw it in the oven for kindling. He didn't give a damn what the consequences would be for that, as long as he never had to see that thing again.

His jeans weren't fucking helping, either. They were cheaply made, coarse-grade denim. He'd have to get the old man to buy him better, higher-quality branded jeans. Something _much_ softer, and less thick. These ones were trapping all the heat, making him feel like he was being baked alive.

 _Fuck._

His mind wandered to the rejected sweat-pants under his bed. _No._ No, he _couldn't_. But, they'd be nice and soft, and loose, and everything these jeans weren't. But he'd _also_ feel like an idiot while wearing them.

Still, he had to wear _something_ , and these jeans clearly weren't an option any longer.

* * *

Rafe's door slammed open and his footsteps were heard moving down the hallway.

Sully and Sam shared a look. It had been less than half an hour since Sully had left Rafe in his room. Sam had only just gotten back from his cigar, and now they were sitting at the table over a few beers while Sully filled him in on what had transpired, not that there was a lot to tell. Neither of them were expecting to see Rafe until it was time for lunch.

Sam quickly snuffed his half-finished cigarette out in an empty beer can. He may have just had a cigar, but it was unthinkable to drink and _not_ smoke.

Rafe walked into the kitchen carrying a stack of jeans, with a pair of sweatpants hanging about his waist. If he was unhappy at seeing the two of them talking, he didn't show it. He simply approached the table and slammed the stack in front of Sully. "These are shit. I need a better brand."

Sam observed him while taking a sip from his beer, drowning the comment that he really wanted to make. Rafe's voice was hoarse and unsteady, and his eyes were still red from crying. He was walking very slowly to hide the fact that he was wincing at each step- Sam knew all of those tricks _very_ well- and, clearly, he was in enough pain to swallow his pride on the whole pants thing.

Sam hated admitting it, but he felt a little better over the whole thing knowing the punishment had that much effect on the brat, but he knew that if he had been the one dishing it out, he'd be feeling pretty terrible right now. He'd have to thank Victor for talking him out of it.

Sully raised a brow and crossed his arms, trying very hard to hide his amusement at the announcement. "You should have said something sooner, kid. What do you have in mind?"

Rafe knew _exactly_ what he wanted. "Three pairs, five hundred dollars, and I'll write everything down for you. You can bill me later."

"Five hundred dollars?!" Sully baulked in disbelief, "Who the _hell_ sells jeans for five hundred god-damned dollars?! Those things better be made out of solid gold for that price!"

"That's what happens when you buy from anywhere but K-Mart," Rafe answered. "Maybe you can settle for low quality, Sullivan, but I can't."

 _Five hundred dollars_. Sully couldn't wrap his head around that. "Turns out I've been smuggling the wrong kind of merchandise," he muttered to himself. "There's no way in _hell-_ "

Sam cleared his throat and leaned forward on the table. "It's not on our dime, Victor."

Sully looked at him, then sighed. That was true enough, although he might have a hard time convincing Nadine that it was a necessity. For the trouble he was going to get, he needed something back. "Alright," he decided, rubbing a hand over his mustache, "I'll put in an order for them..." Rafe visibly relaxed, though Sully knew he'd be livid again at the next part. "…Just as soon as you apologize to Sam for smashing his pan."

Sam raised a brow. That was a very optimistic request. He never asked for an apology, and he was pretty sure that Rafe would _literally_ rather die than give one.

Rafe was quiet for a moment, quelling the anger that was rising at that statement. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he opened them again he looked as calm as ever. "What happened to 'if you need something, just ask'?"

The kid wasn't really _asking_ so much as demanding, but Sully didn't see the need to point that out. "Nothing happened to it. If you remember, I also told you that if you just _want_ something I'll still do my best to get it for you, but I might ask you to do something in return. This is a five-hundred-dollar favor, Rafe. That might not seem like much to you, but it's a hell of a lot to me. You want those jeans? There's your price."

Rafe crossed his arms and studied Sully for a moment. It was true, he _had_ said that, but the old man didn't understand that this was more than a want; those jeans would be life-saving. He couldn't say that, though, not in front of Sam. He needed to back away and think over all of his options, and come up with a way to make the old man agreeable. He grabbed the pile of jeans and, without a word, turned to go back to his room.

Sam shook his head and lit another cigarette. "You pull shit like that and he still doesn't hate you. I don't get it."

"I've been told that I give one hell of a backrub," Sully shrugged, smirking. "In all seriousness, a little understanding goes a long way."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I bet you do. No, I think everyone just likes hearing you talk. You're like that non-threatening, perverted uncle that no one can stay mad at."

"Thanks for that," Sully said wryly, "I'll try not to be offended."

"You know what I meant."

"Yeah, yeah. Not everyone always thinks so, though," Sully looked over at him pointedly. "I remember one kid in particular who thought I was the worst thing that ever came into his life."

"You were a problem," Sam said defensively, "And I didn't see why my brother was so infatuated with you for a long time. You were a thief and a conman, and he _knew_ that, but you still could do no wrong in his eyes."

"Yeah, well, he caught me up pretty quickly too," Sully smiled. "It's not like I was going around looking for another complication in my life, and boy, was he a handful. I was just lucky that, after our initial disagreements, Nate looked up to me enough to gladly go with whatever I said. He only stopped listening to me when you came back into the picture."

Sam's face flickered with distaste before he could stop it.

Sully raised a brow. "Really? Still don't trust me with him, huh?"

"No, no, I do," Sam answered quickly. "Sorry, it's just instinct at this point. I mean, you've got to give me a break on this one. I get released from a prison in Columbia to find my underage brother hanging out with a middle-aged man. That sets some pretty deep gut-reactions to certain memories."

"Don't forget that I'm the one who bailed you out," Sully reached for his beer. "Would have done it sooner if your damned brother had just told me about you from the start. It took him a month to let me know you existed, and that's only because I wanted to leave the country and he ran out of excuses for me to stay."

"Yeah, I know," Sam shook his head. "I don't know what the brat was thinking. He _had_ to know that eventually we'd meet."

"What can I say? The kid's an optimist," Sully chuckled. "He probably knew it wouldn't be too long before he got in trouble with you while I was around, and he wanted to push that off as long as he could."

"So he left me in jail for another month?" Sam thought about it, then nodded. "Yeah, probably. It still happened, though. Lucky for him, you only walked in on us after it was over. Remember that? I was pissed."

"Of course. It's pretty hard to forget," Sully picked up his beer can and took a swig. Twenty-five years ago was a long time, but the memory was still sharp in his mind.

* * *

"The door was open, so I let myself in," Sully called out as he stepped into the small studio apartment. He was struggling to maneuver four full bags of groceries inside with him. When there was no response, he glanced around.

Sam and Nate were on the 'couch'- really, it was an old, short church pew that the two kids had found and somehow dragged up the stairs, then covered with blankets and sheets in an attempt to make it comfortable. The attempt was only minorly successful, but it served its purpose, and Sully was careful not to complain.

Sam was reclined with the majority of the blankets propped under his head and upper back, and his arms were wrapped tightly around his little brother, who was laying against him. The kid was hiding his face in the crook of Sam's neck, and he was shaking a little. Nate didn't look much like the cocky fourteen-year-old that Sully usually saw, and that was setting off all sorts of alarms in his head.

Oh, _goddamnit_. He'd interrupted something serious. "Is everything alright?"

Sam tightened his arms around his brother and gave Sully a guarded look. "What are you doing here?"

In the four months since he'd bailed the older brother out, Sully still hadn't been able to make any leeway with the kid. So far he was tolerated, but Sam made it clear that the tolerance would disappear the moment he made a wrong move towards his little brother.

Sully could respect that. He had no such intentions, of course, but he couldn't convince Sam of anything, despite the month that he and Nate had spent together without incident. The _only_ reason he was allowed to visit was because Nate liked him, and Sam had a really hard time saying no when his little brother wanted something. At least if Sully was allowed to come to the apartment, Sam didn't have to worry about Nate sneaking out to see him.

"I know you've been working late hours recently," Sully answered Sam's question and held up the bags. "I brought some food over 'cause I know you're running low." He set them down on a small dining room table. _This_ piece of furniture was stolen from a store where the owner had chased the two kids out before they even had a chance to buy it, all because they looked like they had no money. Which, to be fair, wasn't too far off the mark.

Sam nodded his head slightly. He was still on guard, but the food was welcome, even if it came with poor timing. "How much do I owe you?"

"You don't," Sully answered right away.

"And by that you mean I don't owe you _money_ ," Sam scoffed.

"I didn't, but if that's how you want to take it then I can always keep all this for myself," Sully said pointedly. If he thought Nate was a piece of work when he met the kid, _Sam_ was the whole goddamned cake.

Sam bit his lip, looking at the bags, then shook his head. Good, he was finally starting to use some sense.

Nate still hadn't made a move to greet him. This had to be a record for the longest time the kid had been quiet in his presence since the two of them teamed up. Sully crossed his arms and eyed the smaller form that was clinging desperately to his older brother. "Should I ask again?" Maybe he shouldn't pry, but his curiosity was getting the better of him, and he wanted to know if it was anything he could help with.

Sam took a deep breath and rubbed a hand across Nate's shoulders, turning his attention back to the kid in his arms. "Everything's fine," he finally answered. "Nathan here did something he really shouldn't have last night, and now he's just… recovering from the consequences."

Nate tensed up, then made his first sound since Sully walked in. "Sam!" he whined loudly, his voice muffled a little by Sam's neck.

Sam smirked in response. "Yeah?"

"You didn't have to tell him that!" Nate's voice was thick with embarrassment.

Sully almost felt bad for the little guy, but at least it was nothing too serious. He had figured that the kid was the type to argue and fight against all forms of authority, so seeing him like this after getting in trouble was a little endearing.

"Hush," Sam pressed his cheek against the top of Nate's head. "I didn't tell him all that much. He already knows you're a brat."

Nate let out another whine of protest, at which Sam just rolled his eyes. "I didn't say _what_ I did to you, but you're making it pretty obvious that you got spanked."

Sully immediately brought his hand up to keep from laughing. It really wasn't funny, but Sam always caught him off guard with how blunt he could be. That statement made a few things click, though; Nate was pretty well behaved for being raised by someone just five years older than him, and the two brothers had an unusually tight bond. By the looks of it, when he _did_ have to step up, Sam compensated by smothering his brother with affection afterwards.

Nate visibly flinched, and Sam's look turned to instant regret. "Nathan, no," he said quickly, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Don't be upset."

Sully tactfully grabbed one of the bags and opened it up. "Sounds like he could use a little pick-me-up, then. It's a good thing I decided to grab this while I was out," he announced, holding up a box of hot chocolate mix.

Sam looked at what he had in hand and smiled for the first time since Sully walked in. He nudged his brother. "Know what he's got? Cocoa powder! When's the last time you had some of that, huh?"

Nate was apparently still too mortified to respond, and Sam's face fell. He looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown.

Sully set the box down, then slowly made his way to the couch. He supposed that it was his fault for walking in on them, even if he had good intentions, so now he had to fix the problems his presence had caused.

Sam's eyes were glued to him the moment he got within arm's reach. Sully pushed at Sam's legs a little to make some room, then sat on the edge of the pew. He put his hand on the back of Nate's head, projecting his movement so Sam knew exactly what he was doing, and spoke matter-of-factly. "You know, in the navy it's not that unusual for them to whup people's asses every once a while."

Nate sniffed and Sully saw him relax a little. "Really?" the kid asked. His voice was still muffled, and a little unsteady.

"Oh yeah," Sully confirmed. "It's off the record, of course, and it usually only happens to new enlistees, but it _does_ happen."

"Did it ever happen to you?" Nate turned his head a little and braved a peek at the older man.

Sully scoffed. "Of course not, kid. I was too smart for 'em. When I _did_ get in trouble, it always warranted more than a behind-the-scenes lesson. Hell, I _wish_ they would have just tanned my hide every once in a while, then I'd still be enlisted. Smuggling under the Navy's nose was a very profitable business."

By now, both of Nate's red-rimmed eyes were on him, and Sam had relaxed as much as he could in Sully's presence. Somehow, he had found just the right thing to say.

Nate managed the courage to release his death grip on his brother and push himself up, though he stayed sitting on his brother's legs rather than the wooden pew. Then he smirked. "Heh, yeah right. I bet you got it every day. You _are_ a liar, after all."

Sully smirked back. "You believe what you want to believe, kid. I can only tell you what happened."

Then, suddenly, Nate's arms were wrapped around him tightly and his face was pressed into Sully's chest. "Thanks, Sully."

Sully hesitated, too surprised to react for a second. This was the first time _that_ happened. He slowly wrapped his arms around Nate and returned the hug, making sure to keep his hands were Sam could see them. "Trust me, it's not that big of a deal."

Sam watched them for a few seconds, then abruptly sat up and pulled at Nate's shoulder. "Hey, come on. He doesn't have a clean shirt to change into if you get your snot all over it like you did mine," he said. "Why don't you grab your pillow and come to the table, and I'll make you a cup of hot cocoa. How does that sound?"

Nate reluctantly let go and nodded at his older brother. "I don't need a pillow," he said as he wiped the back of his hand over his eyes to clear them.

Sam scoffed as he pushed his brother to his feet so he could stand up. "Yeah, sure you don't. Every other time you whine at me to let you bring it to the table after I say no, and now I'm _letting_ you and you don't want it? I'm gonna remember this next time I have to spank you and your friend isn't here."

Nate's face turned bright red. "Sam!"

Sully had to cough to hide his laugh. "I think I need a cigar, my lungs are starting to ache," he lied, reaching in his pocket. Goddamnit, these kids would be the death of him.

* * *

"Your brother still doesn't like to think about the consequences when he makes decisions on the fly like that," Sully mused. "But he bounces back pretty quickly. That's why he was always so easy to cheer up."

"Unless we were out of cocoa powder," Sam amended.

"Right, then all hell broke loose."

Rafe's door slammed open again, bringing them out of the memories. He made a brief appearance in the hallway and threw something that smacked against Sam's forehead. Then he glared at Sully, turned around, and went back to his room.

Sam rubbed his forehead and grabbed the crumpled piece of paper that had landed on the table in front of him. He smoothed it out and began reading, then grinned. "Victor, you've got to see this."

Sully reached for it and glanced over the writing. It was a very, very formal apology, the kind that companies gave out when they were caught doing something shady. He noted while reading that the letter never actually apologized for anything, it just made vague references to a 'regrettable incident' that was 'unfortunate for all parties involved', and buried everything else under a blanket of jargon. He shook his head and handed it back. "I'll talk to him…"

"Don't," Sam said as he folded it up and tucked it in his pocket. "I'll take it. You can go ahead and order those jeans tonight."

Sully looked at him and smiled a little. That was a big change from wanting to kill him. He always did say that cigars did wonders for the mental health. "Alright, if you're sure. I'll go find out what kind he wants."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. If you ask him for a _real_ apology, his head might just explode."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

A/N: That break in chapters was a _lot_ longer than I meant it to be, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't at least a _little_ because I was distracted by the release of Uncharted: The Lost Legacy. It's a great game, and definitely worth a play-through. It did create a bit of a conflict with the premise of this story and I may go back and tweak the first few chapters to adapt to the new story line, but this was already an AU to start with, so maybe not.

Anyway, even though it's a bit late, Happily Holidays to everyone! Enjoy the chapter~

* * *

Sam sipped his beer. It had been about ten minutes since Rafe threw the apology letter at him, but neither he nor Victor felt ready to leave the table yet. He nodded towards the kitchen door. "At some point, I'm going to have to clean that up, aren't I?"

On both the way out and the way back from his walk, he had stepped around the ruined pan without giving it so much as a glance. It was better for it to sit out there until his temper cooled completely or else he would just get mad all over again. The walk, the cigar, the beers, the cigarettes, the knowledge that Rafe had received his due, the letter, and Victor's irritating penchant for lightening the mood all helped his head clear, and now he was feeling much more up to the task.

"Give me five minutes and I'll go out and take a look at the porch. I don't think too many boards were scratched, so it shouldn't be hard to fix up. I'll just get the dimensions and you can order some new boards along with his jeans. I got everything else I need already."

"Don't bother," Sully shook his head, "Not unless you think there's structural damage, but I doubt he's good enough to do that with one pitch. Chances are there'll be more scratches all over this place before the year is over anyway."

"I gotta admit, Victor, I'm a little glad you didn't tell me to show Rafe how to do it," Sam smirked, "My sanity is still recovering from that hole in the bathroom wall. But, if you keep leaving them like that, this house is going to be full of scars by the time we're out of here. You really want that?"

Sully chuckled. At least Sam seemed to be in a better mood. Thankfully, the older Drake had the same happy-go-lucky attitude as Nate, he just did a better job of hiding it. Neither of the boys would have made it this far if they hadn't learned to roll with the punches. It took a little more than hot cocoa to put him back on track, admittedly, but after a little bit of brooding Sam would always bounce right back. Now, if only he was as forgiving as his little brother...

"Rafe and I have already had a talk," Sully explained wryly, "I won't punish him again by making him spend time with you. Besides, it doesn't really matter what happens to this house so long as it's safe to live in. After this year we won't be seeing it again, and it's not like we'll have to worry about resale value. The only reason I made him take care of the bathroom was because I didn't want mold growing in the wall, what with all the moisture in there. If something _has_ to be repaired then it goes to say that the person who broke it should be the one to fix it, which is why it was him and not just you."

"Yeah, we'll see what you say when you're the one who puts a hole in the wall. Besides, I'm not worried about resale value, I just don't want to have to stare at the damage all day while I'm living here." Sam placed his hand over his heart in mock vanity. "It's a matter of pride."

"Is it? I didn't realize you had any of that left."

"Oh, real funny," Sam lifted his beer and took a sip, then mumbled around the rim of the can, "Smartass."

Sully smirked and took a sip from his own beer. There was a moment of comfortable silence between them, then worry began to gnaw at the back of his mind. He set the can down and rubbed his mustache in thought, then leaned forward across the table and spoke with a low voice. "Say, when he walked out here before- did it look like he was favoring a leg to you?"

"Rafe?" Sam cocked his head to the side, trying to remember. "No, it looked like he was doing his best to avoid walking on both feet equally."

"So you think he was just sore?"

"Of _course_ he's sore," Sam scoffed. Why would he even ask that? "Victor, I think you've had too much to drink."

"I wish." Sully shook his head and sat up straight again. "I guess I forgot to tell you- the reason your pan caved like that? He tried to put his foot through it."

Sam eyed Victor to see if he was joking. He wasn't. "Okay," he nodded slowly. "So, when are we getting the doctor here?" With the size of the dent in that pan, along with the fact that he was pretty sure Rafe wasn't wearing any foot protection, there was a very high probability for injury.

"There is no doctor, not yet," Sully answered, "Rafe insisted on it. He says he's fine."

"Victor, even when I had _no_ money and there was a chance that Nate or I broke something, we _always_ went to get it checked. He has all the money and he's going to risk it? And you're _letting_ him? Did you even take a look at it?"

"You know that he isn't exactly keen on being touched, or manhandled," Sully answered, "And forcing it isn't going to make him trust us any more, is it? He's a grown man, he can decide if he wants a doctor or not, so long as he isn't killing himself."

"We both know that's a load of bullshit," Sam said pointedly. "It's a good thing he already hates me, I don't have to worry about playing nice. Why don't you figure out what kind of pants he wants and then disappear on the radio for fifteen minutes?"

Sully looked at him uncertainly. That screamed 'bad idea' at him, but he couldn't deny that he was concerned. If something did happen to Rafe's leg and they didn't get it fixed, the kid's pride could cost him an infection, and, worst-case-scenario, permanent deformation. Still, it was crossing a lot of lines that he wasn't comfortable with, and the very first line was sending Sam to do it. "I don't think that's a good-"

"I'm not going to hurt him," Sam interrupted, his hands held up in a gesture of peace. He knew exactly why Victor was hesitating, but he also knew it was unnecessary. He didn't feel an ounce of anger over the pan anymore. "I'm just gonna make sure his leg is alright, and I'm doing all this behind your back, right? That way he can't be mad at you."

"That won't stop him from coming to me and expecting me to do something about it," Sully warned, "And he'd be right to do that. If you really want to play this like I have no knowledge of your plans, then if something goes wrong, I'll have to respond fittingly to keep it fair."

Sam leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, raising a brow. "And just what do you mean by 'fittingly'?"

"Not what you're thinking," Sully said dismissively. "Once that cat's outta the bag, he'd be expecting it _every_ time you piss him off, and I just don't have the energy to deal with two of you anymore. It'd be more along the lines of losing a privilege, or something missing from our next supply shipment." He gestured towards Sam's pack of cigarettes.

"No way," Sam shook his head, "It's not like I'll be torturing him. It's for his own good."

"Compromise, Sam."

Sam looked away, then sighed heavily. "Fine. We can talk about it _if_ it comes to that. Are you going to let me do this, or not?"

Sully was quiet, turning the idea over in his head again. Something still didn't sit right with it. "You're sure you've calmed down? You're not going to take anything out on him?"

"I am perfectly capable of controlling myself, Victor," Sam said.

"Half an hour ago you were ready to kill him over a pan."

"I was not going to _kill_ him," Sam said defensively, "And it wasn't just because of the pan, alright? He was being a brat. He's been here, what, three weeks now? That's more than enough time to settle in and get over himself. You're telling me that it doesn't bother you he's _still_ pulling that crap?"

"It bothers me a bit more that you're still antagonizing him," Sully responded evenly.

"I am not-" Sam sighed. "I'm only reacting to the things he'sdoing already, not trying to make things worse. I haven't done anything to him that I wouldn't do to Nathan if he was behaving the same way."

"Yeah, but he's _not_ Nate, and he didn't grow up with you. You can't treat him the same way and expect the same results."

"You're telling me that you aren't doing the same thing?" Sam asked. "You're just pulling this all out of thin air, and _not_ from experience with my little brother?"

"No," Sully shook his head. "Most of it's not coming from Nate. Nate was relatively easy to handle. Rafe actually acts closer to a completely different brat I had to learn to deal with."

"Who?" Sam asked, then it registered. He rolled his eyes. "Well, now I'm insulted."

"Just promise you won't do anything to him other than look at his leg, and if it starts escalating then promise me you'll back down. I don't want anything hinky going on."

"Hinky," Sam repeated.

"Yeah, hinky."

"Alright, then. Scout's honor," Sam held two fingers up.

"You were never a boy scout, Sam." Sully sighed and reluctantly nodded. "I'm trusting you to make this work, and not make it worse."

"Fine, then," Sam said drily. "Thieves' honor, then. Nothing's going to happen, Victor."

"Cute." Sully took a deep breath and huffed as he pushed himself out of his chair. "Okay, you'll have to tell me what kind of pan you want. We'll need a new spoon, too. You want the exact same kind?"

Sam raised a brow. "Why? Did you break the one we have already?"

"No," Sully answered defensively. "I'm not _that_ mean. The kid said he wouldn't eat anything that it touched now. Something about germs."

"Ah," Sam nodded. "Yeah, he mentioned that earlier. Can't we just wash it and say it's new?"

Sully gave Sam a look.

"Fine," Sam relented. "Sure, get the same kind. As a matter of fact, get a variety pack. You never know, that might come in handy."

"Sure," Sully agreed, then drily added, "He'll be thrilled when he sees it."

"Good, he needs more joy in his life. I'll write down the pan I want for you while you get his jean type."

Sully shook his head and walked down the hallway to Rafe's room. "Hey, kid," he knocked on the door. "I'm going to put in an order for those jeans now. You have a list of what you want?"

* * *

Five minutes later, Sully was in his room fiddling with the radio. The set up was a little different than they had led Rafe to believe when he first moved in; the radio was a ham radio instead of short wave, and it wasn't the old model that Sully had learned on, either. The new ones came with Wi-Fi capability and a touch screen for browsing the internet if he ever felt the inclination to, along with a lot more doo-dads and features that he never really bothered exploring. All _he_ wanted was the goddamned radio part, but Nadine had insisted, saying it'd make things easier for both of them.

Obviously, telling Rafe that it was short wave was a necessary lie and he didn't feel too guilty about it. If the kid knew it was there, he'd go looking for it every chance he got, and eventually he would find it. Despite his jokes, Sully liked his life, and had grown very attached to it, and as much as he liked to think that Rafe had warmed up to him he wasn't going to be naïve. The ham radio would likely stay a secret for the entire year.

He got the right frequency and signaled Shoreline, and soon enough one of the goons came through on the other end. Then he had to wait while they fetched Nadine. That was good, he needed some time to think up a good pitch, and to let Sam do what he needed to do.

* * *

Rafe was stretched out on his stomach, trying to force the throbbing pain out of his mind so he could focus on his next step. For now, he was at a loss, and he hoped it was only a momentary setback. He wanted to get out of there. He wanted to get away from that old man and that traitor. If he couldn't do that, then he wanted to make them as miserable as he was. So far, though, all of his efforts only made his situation worse, and he had compromised a lot more than he should have. The sweatpants he was wearing were proof of that- and so were the jeans that the old man was ordering for him.

With everything else going on, though, he couldn't be too mad at himself for wanting a few basic comforts. He knew from the beginning that his body had weakened and that he had to retrain it. Maybe it was time to focus on that- build up his health, exercise, get it all back under his control. Take care of his body first, and then work on his peace of mind- a peace that would only come when he was dashing Sam's head out on the porch instead of that fucking pan. Unfortunately, it would be a while until he was strong enough to do that without consequence, which meant he might have to do a lot more cooperating in the meantime.

Well, at least that was _something_ to work on. As long as he had a semblance of a plan in place to focus on, he could begin to relax.

Then someone knocked on his door, and shoved it open before he had a chance to respond or make himself presentable.

"Get out!" Rafe sprung up into a sitting position and repressed a yelp at the pain shooting up his backside from the sudden weight. He couldn't keep himself from wincing, though, so ran his hand through his hair to hide it. At this point, he really didn't care _who_ came through his doorway, he didn't want anyone to see him. He just wanted to be left alone to recuperate; it was pure luck that they hadn't walked in on him rubbing the pain away.

When he saw Sam standing in his doorway, he straightened his back and crossed his arms, scowling to show exactly how unhappy he was to see the man. " _Especially_ you."

Sam rolled his eyes at the display. "Knock off the tough guy act," he said as he walked in, despite the warm welcome he'd received. "I'm not here to bother you. Sully just told me about how you performed your little stunt, and I want to get a look at your leg to make sure it's alright. Two seconds and then I'm gone, promise."

Rafe narrowed his eyes and slid back on the bed until he felt solid wall behind him, then tucked his feet up underneath himself. That position only made it more uncomfortable to sit, and he was fully aware of how ridiculous he must look, but those were both preferable alternatives to Sam touching him. "The old man must have forgotten to tell you that I already said 'no'. I'm fine."

"No, Victor told me that part too, which is why I'm here while he's preoccupied." Sam gestured towards the wall that separated Rafe's room from Sully's, then he approached the bed and pointed at Rafe's right knee. "Was it this one?"

"Get the _fuck_ out of my room, Samuel, or I'm going to do some things of my own while he's busy."

Oh, sure, that was real scary. Sam wasn't even going to acknowledge that threat. "Not gonna tell me? Alright, I'll just check both." He leaned over the bed and threw an arm against Rafe's chest to shove him to one side, then grabbed his now exposed leg at the ankle. He tugged it out from under the brat and began to roll his sweatpants up while Rafe was still struggling to right himself.

By the time Rafe recovered from his surprise, his leg was already bared to the knee.

This was _almost_ worse than when Sam had pulled his pants down during their discussion; but at least then Sam couldn't see his face while he did it. He didn't even like to wear shorts in the summer, and he did _not_ appreciate Drake getting his grubby hands all over his skin right now.

Rafe growled and shifted to bring his other leg out from under him. Then he braced his hands against his mattress and lined up a kick for Sam's face.

Sam glanced up, flinched, and somehow managed to get his arm between them before the kick had a chance to connect with his nose. Pain spiked up his ulna and settled somewhere deep in the bone. _Great._ That was probably going to leave a bruise, and he'd had plans with that arm for later. At least now he knew which leg to look at, because he doubted the brat would want to kick him with a leg that was bothering him.

Sam held his breath until the pain subsided, then grabbed Rafe's free leg before he could completely retract it out of reach. He held both ankles down in front of him. "Can you _please-_ "

Rafe kicked out as hard as he could with both legs, trying to break free. "Last warning, Samuel, get the _fuck_ off me."

Sam held his ankles tightly and took a deep breath. Technically, this was exact point when Victor would tell him to back down. Rafe clearly was against it, and he could feel his own temper starting to bubble from the brat's attempts to hurt him. This was bordering on 'hinky'.

He leveled Rafe with a look. "Just sit still and this'll be a lot easier on both of us. Trust me."

"You can't even give me a reason to _like_ you, let alone trust you," Rafe said vehemently.

"I can give you plenty of reasons. It's not my fault you're a psychopath that-"

Rafe lunged forward and swung his fist towards Sam's temple, but his aim was thrown because of how off-balance he was with his legs in Sam's grip. His knuckles grazed Sam's skin, though, and he got a small sense of satisfaction from that.

Sam paused a second as the burn of scraped skin seared across his upper cheek. "Alright, fine," he said, "If that's the way you want to be." He gripped Rafe's ankles and tugged hard.

Rafe slid off the bed and landed directly on his ass.

* * *

A yelp pierced the house, something very close to how a puppy might sound if it was kicked across the room.

Sully winced. God _damn_ it. So much for not torturing the poor kid. What the hell could Sam be doing?

"What was that?" Nadine's voice buzzed through the speaker. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, must have been wind interference," Sully sighed. Unfortunately, until this call was over, he was trapped in the room and couldn't go check on it. "As I was saying, I know five hundred _sounds_ like a lot…"

* * *

Rafe got his hands underneath him and got some of the weight off of his bottom, then looked at Sam accusingly. The older man was still holding onto his legs, so he was getting absolutely no relief from the pain in that position.

Sam looked at him evenly. "I don't have any patience for you right now. One way or the other, I'm making sure your leg isn't fractured. Are you going to work with me or not?"

Rafe tried one last time to get his legs free, but each movement only forced more weight on his backside, so the most he could manage was to squirm. He looked away and forced his body to relax, swallowing his pride. "Let me back up and I will." _More fucking surrendering. Perfect._

Sam saw Rafe's face change, and it almost looked like he was fighting back tears. Ok, he felt a _little_ bad now, but that didn't change the fact that the brat had done this to himself. He'd been acting completely unreasonable to that point and apparently just needed something to knock him to his senses.

Sam carefully dropped Rafe's legs and stepped back to give him some space to claw his way back up on his bed.

Once Rafe was re-situated, Sam stepped forward again. This time Rafe didn't move, and he was able to roll his sweatpants up to look at his leg without any resistance.

Rafe endured the indignity and kept his eyes on the wall, determined not to flinch or make a sound.

"You're a little swollen," Sam confirmed, "And your ankle's starting to bruise, but it doesn't look very dark." He put some pressure against it. "Does that hurt?"

"Are you done?" Rafe asked in response.

"No," Sam stated. "And I won't be any time soon unless you answer me."

Rafe closed his eyes and grit his teeth. "No, not any sharp pain. I already told the old man, I'm _fine_."

Sam nodded to himself and felt the leg for any unusual bumps under the skin, then turned his ankle to see if he could feel anything grinding together. "Alright," he finally decided. "I think you're ok."

"I _just said-_ "

"Yeah, well, a second opinion never hurts," Sam interrupted and dropped his leg. "Victor was worried, you know? Now I can tell him he doesn't have to be."

Rafe scowled and opened his eyes to gauge Sam's expression. "Did he send you?"

"Please. If he was going to look at it anyway, he would have done it himself. I'm the last person he'd ask to do it." Sam saw Rafe eying him, clearly having difficulty believing that. "You can think what you want. By all means, be mad at him instead of me for once."

After another few seconds of silence, Sam shook his head and made a decision. The brat had just been forced through a lot of things he didn't like, and if he didn't get a pick-me-up then he was going to sulk all day. "Right. I have something else for you. Stay there a second." He turned and left the room.

Rafe stared at his doorway where Sam disappeared, then he rolled his pants leg back down and arranged himself into a more dignified sitting position. He didn't want anything that Sam had for him, but if bringing in tea would make Drake leave faster then he could put up with it.

Sam returned a few moments later and tossed something towards the bed. "Here."

Rafe caught it, then turned it over in his hand. Not tea, then. It was a jar of something.

"That's cream," Sam told him. "It's good for swelling and broken skin. Put that on your 'leg' and it'll help it heal faster. You can leave it next to the bathroom sink when you're done."

Rafe processed that information, trying to decide if it was something he should be angry over or not. "Why do we even have this?"

"Victor's old," Sam answered. "He's got dry skin."

No, not angry. Disgusted. Rafe grimaced and shot Sam a look.

"Just try it," Sam told him, then he gestured towards the room's entrance. "By the way, you have to stop getting mad over me barging in. If you don't want that to happen then lock your damn door."

Rafe blinked and glanced at the door from the corner of his eye. "What?"

"This little tab on the side of the knob," Sam pointed, "Just press it in and it'll lock your door. Turn the knob to unlock it."

Rafe stared at it. That bit of information was enough to shove the cream, his leg, and all other grievances of the day to the back of his mind. Of _course_ the door locked and he didn't even know about it. The tab was small enough that he hadn't given it a second thought until now. "I press that tab and you can't come in?"

Sam shrugged. "In an emergency? Yes, we have a key- we're not quite the idiots you think we are. We'd have to go and get it, though, which would give you plenty of time to hide whatever it was you were doing to yourself that you didn't want us walking in on."

And just like that, his grievances were back. Rafe scowled at the implication. "Get out."

Sam held his hands up defensively. "Just saying. You really didn't know that was there?"

"Why would I? Why the hell didn't you just get a normal doorknob?"

"Because what would be the point of locking you in if you could just unlock it from this side?" Sam scoffed. That should have been obvious. "With this one you only have half the control."

"Where do you even _find_ one like that?" No one in Shoreline was smart enough to design it, and he didn't think they'd spring for a custom job, not when a door latch would suffice.

"They have these for residents in homes for people who are insane, but not criminally so."

Rafe felt his anger spike and he reached for his tennis ball. "I will throw this at you again…"

"I'm not…" Sam sighed. "Don't read into it, ok? We just wanted something that would allow you privacy, but would still keep you from killing us. This was the best option we could find."

Rafe hefted the ball, adjusting his aim.

"Alright, I'm leaving- But you do know that doesn't actually hurt, right?" Sam backed up. At this point, there was no reason to stay any longer. Until Rafe cooled off, he'd only be making things worse. "I should get started on lunch anyway."

Rafe silently watched him leave, and as soon as the door was shut, he threw the ball at it as hard as he could.

* * *

"It was a pleasure as always, Nadine." Sully clicked off the radio and returned it to the top shelf of his closet. Then he took a deep breath and massaged his temples, knowing that now he had to deal with whatever had happened. It felt like he was just going from one damage control session to the next these days.

First things first, talk to Sam. It was better to know the full scale of what happened than to appear surprised at part of Rafe's story and raise suspicions about why he wasn't surprised at the rest.

He pushed his door open and walked down the hallway. The kitchen was empty, but the door to the porch was open, and the pan was gone. He stepped outside and saw Sam leaning against the railing, cigarette in hand.

Sam nodded over to him in acknowledgement. "Done so soon?"

"You know it never takes me too long to get what I want," Sully answered with a smirk.

Sam raised a brow at that and shook his head. "Nathan's right, you do manage to make everything sound dirty."

"What?" Sully scrunched his nose. He'd suspected Sam was the one who planted that idea in Nate's head to begin with, not the other way around. "How- No, never mind." He waved the question away, then went to lean against the railing next to Sam. "How'd everything go?"

"Oh, it wasn't too bad," Sam answered. "I just put it down by the docks, Shoreline can figure out what to do with it. The porch'll need a sealant to keep water out of those scratches, but-"

"Not that, Sam," Sully rolled his eyes. "What happened in there?"

"Ah," Sam took a long drag of his cigarette. "Well, you'll be happy to know that nothing's broken. His ego's a little bruised, but his leg is fine. I'm sure that once you go give him a chance to whine, or whatever it is you do with him, he'll be right back to his arrogant self."

"Right. And that screech I heard?"

Sam shrugged. "So I might have had to force the issue a little. He brought it on himself."

"Sam…"

"I didn't _hurt_ him, Victor."

"Sam, how bad was it?"

Sam looked out at the horizon and took a deep breath. Victor wasn't going to like it, but he also was fairly sure that he didn't do anything wrong. "He fell off the bed and didn't exactly land on a comfortable spot. I may have assisted the fall- but, again, he brought it on himself."

Sully sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was _exactly_ what he had been worried about. "Goddamn it, I told you to back off, didn't I? Alright, I'll go and have a talk with him. But remember what I said earlier- I might have to make some promises you won't like."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Sam said, "Just give me a slap on my wrist and get it over with."

Sully shook his head. "That's not going to be enough. I had one condition and you didn't follow it. You knew what you were signing up for if that happened. Right now the only hard lines I'm setting are that you don't get sent away, and that you don't get your own 'discussion'."

"Great." Sam put out his cigarette against the wood. Funnily enough, there wasn't anything else that Victor could do that would bother him, aside from taking away his smokes. He _knew_ he wouldn't go that far, though. Whatever promise Victor made Rafe, he could put up with it. "Well, I gave him some lotion. You might want to wait a few minutes before checking on him."

* * *

"Hey, kid," Sully called through to Rafe's room, tapping his knuckles against the door twice. "It's me. Can I come in?"

"Give me a minute," came the hurried reply. Sully put his hands on his hips and waited patiently.

"Alright, go ahead."

Sully grabbed the handle, but it refused to turn.

"Huh. So that _does_ work," Rafe's voice came from directly behind the door.

So he finally figured that out, did he? It took him long enough. Sully put his hands back on his hips. "Are you going to let me in?"

"That really depends on what you want. Are you going to harass me some more?"

"No," Sully shook his head. "I'm just trying to figure out what the hell happened while I was on the radio."

The handle twisted and Rafe pulled his door open an inch, peering at him through the crack. "You really don't know?"

"I know what Sam told me," Sully answered.

Rafe stayed quiet, thinking.

Sully sighed. "I'm sorry that I didn't come running when I heard… Well, the indication that something was happening. I was in the middle of a conversation with Nadine, and if I stopped talking suddenly- even _if_ I told her I'd be right back, there's a good chance she would have sent some of her soldiers here to make sure everything was alright. Would that have been any better?"

Rafe digested this, then Sully saw his expression shift as he accepted it. He stepped away from the door and walked back to his bed.

Sully took that as permission to come in, and he stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. "What happened?"

"Nothing that I really want to talk about," Rafe answered.

"Alright," Sully nodded. "Then don't go into specifics. Sam told me he wanted to get a look at your leg, and he knew that I wouldn't like it so he waited for me to be occupied. He came in here, grabbed your leg, and felt for broken bones. Is that all that happened, or is there something he left out?" He decided to leave the last part open, so Rafe could tell him about the incident in his own words. He had a feeling Sam had downplayed the severity of it.

Rafe scoffed and gingerly sat down on his bed, trying very hard not to wince. Sully tactfully ignored it. "Why would you believe me if I told you otherwise? You really think that one as trustworthy as Samuel Drake would _lie_ to you?"

"Because I can believe that Sam is still worked up and may have acted a little hot-headed, and because you _didn't_ come to me right away to tell me about it," Sully answered. "Honestly, that has me more worried than anything else." It was a fair enough point. So far, the kid had snapped up every opportunity that came by to put Sam in bad light.

Rafe reached for his tennis ball and looked at the wall to think. Sully saw his mind working, and he wouldn't be surprised if he was trying to figure out just how much he could stretch the truth while keeping it within the realm of 'believable'.

Then, suddenly, Rafe came to a decision. He took a deep breath, straightened his back, and looked Sully in the eye. "That's all that happened, nothing else," he answered with a casual smirk. "You worry too much, Victor."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

"Well, the kid seems calm, but I haven't decided if that's good or not yet," Sully said quietly as he walked back into the kitchen. Since Rafe didn't have any complaints to talk about, he was just going to give him time to recover in his room for now.

Sam was at the counter cleaning a head of lettuce to prepare it for chopping. The dishes from breakfast had already been cleaned and were drying in the drain. "Let me guess; he told you that I gut-punched him and threatened to cut up his face." Knowing Rafe, he'd been as dramatic as possible and 'wouldn't calm down' until Victor promised to do something about it.

"No," Sully pulled his usual chair away from the table and sat down, throwing an arm over the back casually. "He said you didn't do anything to him."

"What?" Sam paused the rinsing and turned to give Victor a confused look. He _must_ have heard that wrong. Sure, when he left Rafe's room the brat had stopped looking at him like he was a recently discovered tapeworm, and he might have even gotten back into the 'tolerable' category. He was still pretty certain that he wasn't going to let the indignity go, though. "What the hell is he up to?"

"Honestly? I don't know if he's up to anything," Sully answered. "Maybe he figured it wasn't worth the trouble, or that he's had a bad enough day and doesn't want any extra fuss right now. It's not even lunch time yet."

"No," Sam shook the lettuce out and transferred it to the chopping board. "That can't be right. He's scheming again, I can guarantee it."

Sully sighed and rubbed at one of his eyes. This was the kind of thinking that led to most of the confrontations in that house, coming from both parties. Useful when they were trying to scout out new jobs or when their lives were in jeopardy, but not so much in this situation. "Sam…"

Sam could hear concern in his tone. "Oh, here we go," he rolled his eyes and grabbed a towel to dry his hands, then walked to the table and sat down across from Victor, "What is it, dear? Something bothering you?"

"Cute. You already know what's on my mind," Sully gave him an exasperated look. "Just because he isn't saying anything doesn't mean I can't talk to you about it. You can't keep doing this to me."

"Doing what?" Sam asked, indignance creeping into his tone. "My job? You _agreed_ to this."

"No, I didn't," Sully said pointedly. "I agreed with the stipulation that you would stop if it got out of control, and you didn't."

"And he's not bitching about it, is he? I'd call this a win-win."

"And I call this a serious problem if I'm supposed to keep the peace between you two," Sully said adamantly. "Even if he's willing to let it go, he could have chosen to go the complete opposite direction. Were you even listening to me when I told you not to cross the line? Or were you just using the opportunity to get back at him? Because you told me that you were over your pan already before I even _started_ thinking of agreeing to it."

"No, I…" Sam looked away and took a deep breath. "It had nothing to do with the pan, alright? You weren't in there. He overreacts to _everything_ , and I guess I just got sick of it. Maybe I could have kept my cool a little better, but I'd say I did a pretty good job of holding back, wouldn't you?"

"You still didn't do what I asked," Sully crossed his arms and leaned forward on the table, looking at him evenly. "And all you did was give him another reason not to trust you, _or_ me, which could've taken us several steps back, so don't give me shit now about you thinking he's up to something. I know that on some level you know you went too far, and that you feel at least a _little_ bad, so don't fight me on this one."

"Fine," Sam subconsciously crossed his arms and leaned back. He was expecting as much, even if he didn't agree. As long as Victor kept it reasonable, he could handle it. "So, what now?"

Sully eyed him for a second. Sam wasn't going to like it. "Like I said, you can't keep doing this to me. I think what I'm asking is pretty fair given the circumstances; either you only get half the amount of cigarettes on our next supply drop off-" he raised a hand to preemptively silence Sam's protests, "Or you wait a month after the new pan arrives to be able to use it."

Sam stared at him for a beat and narrowed his eyes. "No."

That was about the reaction he'd been expecting. Sully cocked his head to the side. "You know that under normal circumstances I would never presume to try to enforce anything on you-"

"And I can't tell you enough how well that's been working out for us so far," Sam interrupted.

"-So I'm not going to start trying now," Sully continued pointedly, "But I was hoping you'd agree on your own volition, before you turn into the bigger pain in my ass between the two of you."

Sam looked at him evenly for a few seconds, then looked down and nodded. Dammit, Victor knew just what to say to hit his pride. "Well, I've been saying I need to quit smoking anyway."

Sully nodded. "Thank you." Then he took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat, fishing a cigar out of his pocket. "I _would_ like to know what's going on in his mind right now, though." He wasn't sure if Rafe really was scheming or playing nice until he could get back at Sam, but he _did_ know that Rafe hadn't just given up. If he could get through that beach incident, he wouldn't be brought down by a leg inspection.

Sam scoffed and pushed his seat back so he could resume working on lunch. "I told you, he's planning something. Probably wants us to drop our guard."

"Or maybe he just decided to stop fighting and work with us for the rest of the year," Sully mused.

Sam snorted. "And maybe we'll find Captain Kidd's long-lost treasure buried under the house."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm just trying to give him the benefit of a doubt," Sully sighed. "I'm supposed to be impartial, I can't just assume the worst."

"Assuming the worst is how we've lived this long, Victor," Sam reminded him. "And you've never been impartial in your life- all you need is a nice set of legs to sway your opinion. That, or a pair of puppy eyes to tug at your heart-strings."

"This isn't a life or death situation," Sully smirked. "Is that your way of telling me that I always took Nate's side of things?"

"Well, he _does_ have nice legs."

Sully chuckled and shook his head. "Not my type. And either you're a terrible liar or you just chose to forget all those times I had your back- _especially_ when he put himself in danger."

"Oh, sure, of course you did," Sam agreed. "Right up until it was time to dish out his punishment, then _I_ had to be the bad guy, and _you_ were the one to make him feel better when it was all over."

"Not true," Sully pointed his cigar at him. "I had to be the bad guy too, plenty of times. Remember the ship incident? He was… seventeen, was it? You'd think that by then he'd be used to me going away on jobs for a while, but this time he begged and begged to come along. You and I both told him 'no' because it was dangerous, and because you couldn't come along and didn't want him to be alone with me for that long. He sulked right up to the time of departure and wouldn't even come out to say goodbye to me. Then, two days into the voyage, who do I find hiding in the cargo bay?"

"Oh, I was ready to kill him for that," Sam recalled as he began chopping up the lettuce. "I was worried sick when I didn't see him at the apartment, and the only thing that kept me from going off on him when you made him call me was how scared he sounded over the phone."

"Yeah," Sully smirked. "Poor kid was terrified, and it didn't help that I chewed his ear off right before calling you. I think he was ready to face you when we got back, but he wasn't prepared for me being mad too. Almost started crying right when I handed the sat-phone over. And I still let him have it after that, so I was _twice_ the bad guy."

"That was the first time you spanked him, wasn't it?"

"Sure was. He made me feel like quite the monster for it."

"And somehow you both survived," Sam smirked, "Ok, fine, but that was once. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it was me who was the monster."

"If you say so. That why you decided to vacation for fifteen years?" Sully couldn't help grinning. "Made me do all the hard work?"

Sam snorted. "Vacation, sure. You're forgetting that I had to deal with most of the teen years. Everything after that was a breeze."

"Breeze, my ass," Sully shook his head and stood to stretch his legs. He wanted to go for a walk, but he wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to leave those two alone in the house again today. Well, at least it was an excuse to get out of exercise. "I'm going to go sort through the newspapers, if you're done flashing that victim complex of yours."

He headed towards the living room and got there just in time to hear Sam's indignant response.

"Oh, _I_ have the victim complex?!"

* * *

It took a little while for Rafe to feel ready to leave his room again, but eventually he managed to get himself to the bathroom so he could take a long, cold shower. It helped to remove the lingering heat radiating from his ass, and now he finally felt clean after Sam's intrusion.

By the time he was out, he had largely recovered. His face and eyes weren't red anymore, and he only walked a little stiffly, so long as he went slowly. Sitting would be a challenge, but at least he could wear jeans again. They were still a little abrasive, but he could put up with it if it meant being able to ditch the sweatpants.

Lunch came and went without much incident. He was actually a little relieved to see that the cushions were back in place at the table, but he still had to act annoyed when he saw them, for appearance's sake. Sully was the only one talking as they ate, though the old man didn't seem to notice. He was just rambling about some wild night he'd had at the Waikiki Tiki Lounge back when he and Nate were researching an underground city. The more he talked, the more convinced Rafe was that he was going senile. Either that or he'd gotten far too lost in his own con.

When lunch was over Rafe went back to his room. According to tradition, he wouldn't have to worry about doing dishes today so there was no reason to stay in the kitchen. If, for some reason, they decided to break that tradition then he was sure they would tell him eventually. For now he just had to figure out how to occupy the rest of the day.

One thing was certain; he'd go crazy if he spent another full day stuck inside the house. He needed to let his body rest and recuperate before he attempted anything else with the other two members, and he needed to build some muscle to be able to assert himself more. He _knew_ that, had known it for a while. Unfortunately, his hands were currently too beat up to use the punching bag due to his overzealous use of it since he got it and there wasn't any other exercise equipment on the island.

He needed _something_ to do. _Anything_ to get his mind away from the first half of the day, and to make him feel like he was actually making a little bit of progress for himself since the day he'd failed to kill the Drakes.

He paced his room for a little bit, ignoring the protests from both his leg and his bottom, before realizing that he a completely different problem to address. A much simpler problem that could be solved relatively quickly, making it the perfect distraction: he was almost out of clean clothes. It was time to tackle laundry.

He had a hamper in his closet that was overflowing. He had known for the past few days that he'd have to face it soon, but he'd been neglecting it in order to fulfil his other plans. That, and he knew the first time washing his clothes was going to be difficult. He really didn't want anyone else seeing him do it, or even knowing that he was doing it. He never liked having an audience when he was doing menial tasks. It felt too _average_.

Unfortunately, neither men left the house much unless they were smoking, but then they'd be just outside and he'd run into them anyway. Or they'd be down at the docks taking care of the supply drop, which meant he might run into Shoreline mercs if he stepped out, which would be even worse. No, he wasn't going to get away without anyone seeing him, so he had to figure out how to transfer his laundry to the little shed outside while appearing nonchalant about it.

He contemplated on what to do. Did he really need to take _all_ the clothes? He could carry the whole thing to the shed since it wasn't too heavy. It _was_ bulky, though, and would therefore be annoying to maneuver. It'd be difficult to carry without looking like an idiot.

Then there was the problem of the contents, some of which he didn't want anyone else seeing. He solved that one easily enough by putting his recently used towel on top of the pile and tucking it down around everything else, though he folded it a bit so it didn't look like he'd done it on purpose.

That solved, he still had the first dilemma to decide. He didn't really need to do all of it at once; maybe it was better to just do half of it now to allow for the learning curve and the rest later when he was sure he knew what to do.

No, he shook his head. If eleven-year-old Mexican girls knew how to do laundry for a living, he could figure it out. Hell, if _Samuel_ knew how to do it, it should be a breeze. There was no reason to make it two trips when one should be sufficient.

With his mind finally made up, he opened his door and hefted the hamper to carry it out.

Unfortunately, Sam was still in the kitchen when he walked through. He stared straight ahead and pretended he didn't see him.

"You're doing laundry? _Now_?"

So much for that. "Fuck off."

"I..." Sam stopped whatever he was about to say and sighed. "Do you need help?"

"What did I just say?"

"That doesn't tell me anything," Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine. Let me get the door for you at least." He began walking over.

Rafe looked at him, set his hamper down, and pushed the door open himself. Then he resumed his way.

Sam shook his head and closed the door behind him. Rafe heard him mutter the word 'brat' right before the door shut.

Nope. He wasn't going to take the bait. Not today.

Rafe shuffled his laundry to the shed and dropped the hamper on the tiled floor. Alright, there couldn't be much to this. He just had to put the clothes in, add some soap, and turn it on. How hard could it be?

He opened the top of the machine and glanced inside. Thankfully, it didn't look as dirty as he would have expected with it's age. It might actually do an adequate job of cleaning. Still, it wouldn't have killed them to upgrade to a newer model, one that did all the thinking for them.

He pulled the hamper closer and spent the next few minutes packing his clothes in, jamming them down to get them all to fit. Next he had to find the soap. Luckily, there weren't many places to hide it in there. He opened the only cabinet in the room and for the first time since deciding on this task he felt a little overwhelmed.

There was a big bottle of detergent, which was obviously the one he needed, but there were several other chemicals in with it. Fabric softener, bleach, hydrogen peroxide, a slew of various stain fighters, and starch. What the _hell_ was fabric softener? Did clothing randomly get hard when you washed it? Or was that something poor people needed because they bought shitty clothes? It might explain why his jeans were so rough.

He frowned. Well, _his_ clothes shouldn't need any of the fancy cleaners, at least. He didn't spill food on himself or absorb smoke or anything like that. Detergent should be enough.

He hoisted the bottle and unscrewed the cap, then began pouring the detergent into the machine. There were a lot of clothes and he didn't exactly trust whatever off brand soap they had bought, so he was very generous with the amount. Then he poured in some fabric softener for good measure, just in case.

When that was over he closed the lid and stared at the different dials. Load size was easy- extra large. Wash temp? Hot sterilized things, so that seemed the logical choice. The others, not so much. He chose the best matches that he could, turned the largest dial to 'extra rinse', and hit start.

The machine began to fill with water, and for a little while it seemed like he had done everything correctly. He wasn't ready to go back inside, though, so he leaned against the wall and waited for a few minutes, just to make sure it kept going smoothly.

As the 'wash' cycle started, the machine chugged a few times, then belched out some bubbles and went dead.

* * *

"I'd just like to point out, I am showing amazing restraint right now," Sam commented, pacing in the living room.

"I'm sure you are," Sully mused, only half-listening. He had _The Wall Street Journal_ open in front of him and was skimming the obituaries for any names he might know.

"He's been out there a long time, probably just staring at the machine. Why is he even doing laundry right now? He just got spanked, he should be sleeping, or moping, or _something_ other than chores." Sam glanced towards the clock. "I give him five more minutes before he skulks back here and asks for help. Only, instead of 'help', he's going to tell me that the machine is broken and I need to come and fix it. Because _obviously_ a washing machine isn't complicated at all, so if he can't work it out then there must be something wrong with it."

Sam shook his head. "Am I going out prematurely to handle it and save myself a headache? No." He paused his pacing right in front of Victor and crossed his arms. "I'm doing what you said and letting him work it out for himself. _Despite_ the mess he's probably making. I'd just like to point that out."

"I'll be sure to give you a goddamned gold star," Sully glanced up at him. "Will that make you feel better?"

"Depends. If I put it on my tongue, will it dissolve?"

Just then, the door in the kitchen opened and Rafe appeared in the entrance to the living room. He glanced at Sam unhappily for a second, then fixed his eyes on Sully. "I'm going to need you to come outside for a minute."

* * *

"Jesus Christ, Rafe, what the hell did you do?" Sam wiped the suds off the lid of the washing machine and opened it up. Immediately, he knew exactly what happened.

"I did laundry," Rafe complained, watching Sam with his arms crossed. He wasn't too happy that the older Drake had insisted on coming along. "What did you think I did? It's not my fault that that thing's a million years old!"

"There's nothing wrong with the machine," Sam threw a look over his shoulder and reached in to grab a handful of clothes. They were packed in so tightly that he had to tug to get any out; at this point he didn't even care that he was stretching them. "You should have taken my help when I offered it."

"I didn't need any! What are you doing?" Rafe immediately uncrossed his arms and walked over. He didn't want anyone else touching his clothes.

"Moving half of these to the sink for now," Sam answered, "There's enough in here for two loads, maybe more. You can't just throw two weeks' worth of clothing in and expect it to work out." He threw the sopped clothes into the nearby sink, dripping water everywhere. "Chris'sakes…"

"Don't do that!" Rafe pulled his clothes out of the sink. "When's the last time this thing's been cleaned? Who knows what's in there?!"

"Who cares?!" Sam retorted, throwing in another handful. "Your clothes are getting washed anyway!"

"Sam," Sully warned from the doorway. He had been leaning there quietly, trying to hide his amusement at the whole situation. He wasn't going to be much help, since he didn't know a lot about laundry either. Though, apparently, he at least knew a little more than Rafe did. He was only there to make sure no one got strangled with a wet shirt if the tension got too high.

"We're lucky he didn't break the tumbler," Sam muttered, "Fine." He opened the cabinet and found a sponge, then tossed it at Rafe. "Here, wipe it down if it makes you feel better."

Rafe held the sponge like it was a dead rat and looked at Sam. Then he slowly turned the water on at the sink and held it under. When the sponge was soaked it released a few suds, so he felt better about using it. He meticulously wiped the sides of the sink down, then wiped the bottom three times to make sure all the residue went down the drain, all while Sam waited impatiently. When he was satisfied, he threw the sponge back at Sam and began to transfer his clothes to the sink himself.

Sam rolled his eyes and put the sponge away. "Serious question, Rafe. Did your parents teach you to do anything for yourself? How old were you when you learned to chew your own food?"

Rafe glared his way. "Don't talk about things you don't know about," he said through grit teeth. "And it's not like I did a bad job here, other than overestimating the machine's capacity."

"You didn't even separate the colors!" Sam said, exasperated. He reached in the washing machine to help Rafe with the transfer. "And just how much detergent did you put in, anyway?"

Rafe stopped him before he could grab any more of his clothes. "I'll do it, don't touch anything else. Why does it matter if it's all together? Are you telling me that I need to do a separate load for _each_ color?"

Sam just shook his head, defeated. This was worse than Rafe's first try at washing dishes. "I... I don't even know where to begin. Just take as many clothes out as you can. I'll drain the basin, and we can start over. Alright?"

"Yeah, whatever," Rafe scowled, "You don't have to watch me. I'll come and get you when I'm done."

"It'll be faster if you let me help."

"Fuck off."

"What about Victor, then?" Sam asked. "Will you let him help?"

Sully raised a brow at that, and Sam just shrugged at him. He didn't like being volunteered to do any kind of work, but he supposed he couldn't get too mad. At least Sam was _trying_ to be a little understanding.

"Sorry," Rafe said, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "I didn't realize you were on a tight schedule out here in the middle of fucking nowhere."

Sam rolled his eyes and backed up to lean against the wall. "Suit yourself. I'm staying right here."

It took several minutes, but Rafe managed to get most of his clothes into the sink. There were still some sitting at the bottom of the washing machine's basin, but he wasn't willing to reach that deep into questionably clean water.

By the time he was done, the shirt and pants he was wearing were soaked and he felt like taking another shower. Sam wasn't willing to let him leave to take one, though.

"You stay right there while I get the water draining," Sam pointed at him before crouching down in front of the machine to access the drain hose.

"I'm not a dog," Rafe protested indignantly.

"I never said you were one, I just said to stay put."

In response, Rafe held up a finger to his back. It was petty, but better than nothing.

While the water drained, Sam taught him the basics, starting with how to separate his clothes out and what was considered a good load size. He also made sure to point out just how much detergent he'd need to use. Rafe hadn't answered his question about how much he had put in, but there was enough sludge on the top layer of clothing that it really didn't take a lot of thinking to figure out.

Rafe hated absolutely _everything_ about Sam teaching him another chore, so when the first load was finally on its way to getting clean, he was ready to get away and be by himself for a bit. He still didn't want to go back to being cooped up in his room, though, and he was even willing to forsake a shower to stay out of the house.

"Alright," Sam nodded with relief when the machine was running smoothly again. "That'll take about an hour to finish, so find something else to do for now." He was also more than ready to be done teaching Rafe basic household skills. His parents had really, _really_ failed in raising him.

Rafe took a deep breath and straightened his back. Well, that was another hour of the day he would have to push out of his mind. "I think I'll go for a walk," he commented, then amended. "Alone."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Sully spoke up. "Your leg…"

"My leg is fine," Rafe said. He looked at Sully with annoyance, wishing he would drop the subject by now. "I've been stuck in the house for the past two weeks, and in a cell for even longer. I'm going to get stir-crazy soon."

"It was all your choice," Sam said under his breath.

"Beats being around you," Rafe replied evenly, turning to glare at him.

"Too bad, you can't get very far away from me here."

"Yeah? Well maybe I should follow in your mother's footsteps and commit suicide to get away from you." It was out before he even thought about what he was saying. Well, so much for letting his body recover before starting anything again, but at least it felt good to say it.

It felt even better when he saw the look on Sam's face. He hadn't seen eyes that cold since he had shot at Nathan and sent him over a cliff, which they both thought had killed him. Sam's hand clenched in a fist, then he simply turned around and left without a word.

Rafe raised a brow. If Sully hadn't been behind him, there was a high chance that Sam would have punched him. Hell, with that look, he might have even _killed_ him. He'd been trying to find the right button to push all this time, and now he'd wasted that opportunity.

"Rafe," Sully spoke to get his attention. "That wasn't very nice."

"I never claimed to be nice," Rafe said, turning back to look at him. By now he had schooled his features back into a calm, composed expression.

Sully shook his head. "Don't expect any favors from me until you apologize for that one- verbally. You understand me?"

Rafe shrugged. "I don't need any favors from you."

"Sure you don't." He was glad Nathan wasn't there. The younger Drake wouldn't have been able to keep his temper in check. "How'd you even know about that? There's no remaining documentation linking them to their mother anymore."

"Believe it or not, at one point I was pretty close to them," Rafe answered. "My younger, naïve self might have even called them friends. They confided in me."

That was something he hadn't actually considered. "And you cared enough to listen?"

"Call it a professional courtesy," Rafe said.

"Right," Sully nodded. "Do you have any relationships with people that aren't just 'professional', Rafe?"

Rafe smirked. "Are you asking me on a date, Sully?"

"Cute."

Rafe shook his head. "No, I don't. Not anymore. I'm not making that mistake again."

"That's not a good way to live, kid," Sully said. But, he knew Rafe wouldn't want to talk about it. That was a conversation to save for later. "I'm going to make sure Sam's ok. Go ahead and take your walk. Take it easy on that leg of yours, though, and don't go too far that you can't walk back."

Rafe nodded and waited for the old man to leave. Then he straightened up, pushed the last hour out of his mind, and exited the shed. The last time he had ventured outside was when he buried the food coloring and the bag of honey. This time he chose to walk in the other direction to see what was out that way.

Forty minutes into the walk, he came across a concealed beach. He stopped in his tracks and stared, confirming that he actually saw what he thought he did.

 _Shit_. There went his plans for blowing up the island at the end of the year.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Twenty-four years earlier, Sam Drake stood on a porch with a cigarette, taking in the night air. Nate had just gone to sleep, but not before making a headache of himself. To be fair, his little brother _was_ right; at age sixteen he shouldn't have to worry about when he went to bed. Especially not when he didn't have to be up for school or a job in the morning. Sam had responded with the tried-and-true threat that maybe he should take him to Catholic Mass in the morning if he had nothing better to do. Nate didn't like it, but he liked the idea of sitting through a sermon even less, so he eventually caved.

Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do- it certainly wasn't fair- but Sam needed a moment to himself to process everything that was happening to him right now; some time alone where he didn't have to be a good brother and put on a brave face. Nate would eventually forgive him.

The front door to the house opened and Sam only had a split-second to throw his cigarette over the railing before Victor Sullivan stepped outside to join him. _Perfect._ That was just what he needed.

"Sam," Sully nodded at him in acknowledgement. "How you holding up?"

"Fine," Sam answered curtly. "Did you come out here to make sure I didn't ditch you?"

"Nope, the thought never crossed my mind," Sully answered easily. "We may not exactly be close, but I know you better than that, at least. I just wanted to see if you had a light." He fished one of the ever-present cigars out of his pocket and looked at Sam expectantly.

Sam crossed his arms defensively across his chest. "What makes you think I would?"

Sully smirked at that. "Here's a tip: a smoker can smell a fellow smoker a mile away. You might have the kid fooled, but not me. I knew the moment you had picked up that habit at the restaurant- and three seconds of me being out here is not long enough for the smell to dissipate. So, light?" He held his hand out.

Sam narrowed his eyes. When Victor didn't budge, he sighed. "You get more breaks at work if you smoke, and I was tired of being the only hard worker _and_ the one who worked longest."

"I'm not gonna yell at you, kid. You're turning twenty-one in a few months. You've been old enough to smoke for a couple years now, and even if you weren't I wouldn't judge. You don't have to hide it."

"Don't call me 'kid'. My brother might like that, I don't." Sam reluctantly reached in his pocket for his lighter and his pack. He lit up a second cigarette for himself before handing the lighter over. "Nate doesn't know yet, that's the only reason I'm hiding it. I don't care what you think."

"Of course not." Sully nodded in thanks and lit his cigar. "He's going to find out eventually, you know. He's a sharp one."

"Yeah, I know," Sam agreed, "But that can wait 'til he's a little older and can make decisions for himself. I don't need him copying every dumb thing I do."

"Ah," Sully handed the lighter back. "Is that why you're always bitching at me to put my cigars out around you?"

Sam snorted and pocketed the lighter again. "If he _does_ pick up the habit, I'm going to make you eat one of those cigars," he said seriously. " _After_ I kill him."

Sully smiled at that. No one could accuse Sam of not looking out for the kid, that was for sure. "I don't doubt it. Other people have tried to make me eat one before, you know, but you might actually have what it takes."

"Don't be patronizing," Sam scowled. "Just because you do me a favor doesn't mean we're friends."

Sully held his hands up placatingly. "I'm just out here enjoying a cigar. Calm down." Then he gestured towards Sam's left eye, which was surrounded in a purple-black bruise. "Want to tell me about that?"

"This?" Sam conscientiously touched the area around his black eye. "It's nothing. A pan fell on me at work."

"Nothing," Sully repeated. "Right. And it just happened to appear on the same day that you got fired- sorry, 'quit' your job." He took a puff from his cigar. "What was the reason again? The manager was an asshole?"

Sam felt his face flush red, from a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "That's none of your business."

"It kinda is," Sully said. "Because now you can't afford your apartment so you and your brother are staying with me, and I want to know if I've got a goddamn loose cannon under my roof."

Sam looked away from Victor, trying to keep his temper in check. It was like the old man was _trying_ to piss him off. He inhaled some smoke and held his breath, forcing himself to calm down. When he could trust himself to speak again, he said, "Don't worry, as soon as I find a new job we'll get a different place to live. You won't have to worry about us for too long."

"I'm not worried," Sully said, then shook his head and continued quietly. "But if you're in trouble, maybe I can help. Whatever it is, I won't tell your brother. He can keep thinking you left that job on your own terms."

The gentleness in Victor's voice caught Sam off guard. He never liked talking to anyone about personal things; they were better off bottled away and forgotten. He _especially_ didn't want to talk with the old man about anything. He was certain Victor couldn't be trusted. At best, he would start making fun of him. At worst, he would be disgusted and kick Sam and Nate out.

Still, whether it was due to the smoke, the night air, or his exhaustion, there was a small part of him that wanted to talk about it. He took a deep drag from his cigarette, then, against his better judgement, cleared his throat. "Some of the guys in the kitchen were talking about this kid who committed suicide, it was in the news yesterday. They were making jokes."

"And?" Sully scoffed. "It's sad when things like that happen, but you'll always find assholes around getting their goddamn kicks off it. That's no reason to get into a fight."

Sam shook his head. "You don't understand. I… I just don't like it when people make fun of that, ok?"

Sully eyed him, then awkwardly spoke, " _You're_ not starting to think about-"

"No," Sam said quickly, and laughed a little despite himself. "With Nathan to look after? I can't afford those kinds of thoughts."

Sully nodded. "Good. Well, then why let it get to you like that?"

Sam stayed quiet, inhaling smoke fast enough that he almost burned through the cigarette already. Sully was just beginning to think that he wasn't going to get an answer when Sam spoke up in a wavery voice that he'd never heard before.

"Our mom… After dad left, she got real sick," he explained. "She wasn't in her right mind, didn't know what she was doing…" He closed his eyes. "I really can't talk about it."

Shit. _Shit_. _Goddamn it._ Sully had no experience with any of this. Sam was right, it wasn't his business and he should have kept his goddamned mouth shut.

There was only one solution that came readily to mind. "Hey, I know it's a few months too early, but how about I break out a six pack? It's a nice night outside, perfect weather for it."

Sam wiped his arm across his eyes and leveled Victor with a look. "I've been drinking for years. You know that, right?" His voice was steady again, full of obvious relief at the subject change.

Sully was relived too. "Of course. But this is my house, and you aren't touching any of my alcohol without my say-so, even after your birthday." He opened the front door to the house to step inside.

"Is that how it's going to be? Rules? I knew there was a catch." Sam followed after him. "You aren't the type to let two strangers stay with you for free."

"Free?" Sully scoffed. "No way. I'm gonna back-charge you for rent as soon as you get a new job." He was being facetious, but Sam might also feel better about the whole deal if he didn't think he'd use this as leverage later on.

"Rent?" Sam repeated. "How much is that going to cost me?"

Sully opened his refrigerator to get the beer out, then paused as he thought. "Two hundred a month?" That seemed more than fair. It was less than half what they paid for the old apartment- as far as he figured, anyway. He didn't know the exact amount.

"Two hundred? We don't even have beds," Sam gestured towards the living room. "I have to share a couch with that blanket-stealing thief. One-fifty."

Sully had to grin. Tough negotiator, a man after his own heart. "Alright, one-fifty," he agreed, "And I'll take another twenty-five off if you cook every once in a while and help to keep the place clean." He popped open two bottles and offered one to the young adult.

Sam took it and nodded. "Deal."

* * *

After talking with Rafe, Sully opened the door to the kitchen and stepped inside. Sam was sitting at the table with a cigarette and a few beers in front of him. Some things never change.

"I expect Rafe will be gone for a while," Sully commented as he pulled a chair out and sat down. Then he eyed Sam carefully. "How you holding up?"

"I'm fine," Sam answered, then sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Fine enough, anyway. Don't worry, I won't kill him."

"Right," Sully nodded slowly. "I didn't ask if you were going to kill him or not."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I've had plenty of time to work through it, Victor. It doesn't get me like it used to, not even coming from him. He just caught me by surprise, that's all."

"If you say so." Sully reached over to grab one of the bottles that was in front of Sam, popped it open, and took a sip. Then he took a deep breath. "I've got something to say, and I don't think you'll like it."

"Alright," Sam eyed him and nodded. "Go ahead. Can't be the worst thing I hear today."

"Between the pan and his comment, I really don't want the two of you to be alone in a room together," Sully said. "At least for a week, maybe longer depending on what else happens. I don't even want you unlocking his room in the morning anymore. Leave that to me." He'd just have to try to wake up early enough to keep Rafe from complaining.

Sam was quiet for a moment, then took a drag from his cigarette. "I hate to say it, but that's probably the right call," he admitted. "I don't know how much more I can take while keeping my temper in check." Though, to be honest, he didn't think it would do Rafe much harm if he snapped just once. Then the brat might learn not to push it.

"Thank you," Sully nodded, then smirked. "Now you know how I feel most of the time."

"You've never had someone that didn't like you," Sam scoffed. "And even if you did, no one knew anything they could hold against you like that."

"You didn't like me," Sully pointed out, then mused. "You never met Harry Flynn, did you? If you think Rafe's a challenge, you would have broken Flynn's nose the first time you met him."

"If he hated you then he couldn't have been that bad," Sam smirked. "Of course, Nathan wouldn't have approved."

"No, Nate was pretty good friends with him," Sully said, then added drily, "And I think Flynn liked him a bit _too_ much." Then he cleared his throat. "On a completely different subject, something caught my curiosity. Rafe says he got pretty close to you and your brother when you were in Panama. I only met him in transit, and I can't say I got that impression. Nate didn't like him, at least."

Sam shrugged. That was probably more one-sided than mutual. "You could say that. He was just a kid at the time, remember? Not a real threat. I think he only liked us because we were so different from the stuffy people he was used to being around. That, and it was all wrapped around an adventure. Rose-colored glasses, you know how it goes." It actually helped a little to remember Rafe as the little pipsqueak he was all that time ago. Well, maybe pipsqueak was the wrong word; even back then he had the dangerous businessman thing going on. He was definitely still naïve, though, and a lot more open than he was now.

Sully nodded. "Was he always this much of a health nut? How did he even survive prison?"

"Mh." Sam shrugged. "I don't know, I certainly never saw this side of him before. When we were in Panama he didn't act like this, but then again he didn't have much of a choice. He wasn't going to get prime steak or sterile conditions in the prison cell. Before that we were in nice hotels or at his mansion, where he didn't have to worry about it. Maybe he can just turn that part of him off to do what he has to." They'd already seen him hide behind his mask plenty of times, under much less extreme circumstances. It wasn't a stretch. "Or, who knows? Maybe at that point he was just getting back at his parents for making him live a pristine life so far, and by now he's over it."

"Knowing him, that makes sense," Sully agreed. "But you still were with him for two years after he got you out of prison."

"Even when he bailed me out we were still spending a lot of time around his place and his staff until he brought me to Scotland," Sam explained, "Conditions weren't exactly terrible there. He still had some of his staff among Shoreline so we weren't just living off MRE's. Nadine thought it was a waste, I thought he was just spoiled. As for the part when you and Nate jumped in… At that point, he was so obsessed with finding the cross, I think he would have been willing to jump into a sewer if he had to."

"So you had no idea when we started all of this that he was going to be like that?" Sully asked. "It would have been nice to know ahead of time."

"If I did, don't you think I would have warned you?"

Sully didn't have any time to respond. The kitchen door opened and Rafe walked in, not even bothering to hide the pain when he walked.

Rafe eyed the beer and cigarettes but, surprisingly, didn't even comment. Instead, he walked right to the bookshelf in the living room and stared at the contents. "You know, life would be so much easier if we had internet," he called out, scanning the titles of the books in front of him. "How am I supposed to look up something if I need information?"

Sully glanced at Sam, then cleared his throat and straightened up. "Well, what do you want to look up? There's an encyclopedia set on the bottom."

Rafe looked down. "Those are only introductory articles, though, aren't they?" He'd never had to rely on them before and wasn't even sure if he had picked one up in his life. "Nothing in depth."

"Are you writing a research paper now?" Sam asked, brow raised.

Rafe ignored him and grabbed the volume that covered the subjects between 'TAN' and 'TUT' and began flipping through it.

"If you want me to get you a book on whatever's caught your interest, I can," Sully said, then added pointedly. " _If_ you want a favor, that is."

Rafe glanced at him, shook his head, and looked back at the book.

"So you're not going to tell me what this is about?"

"I'm not," Rafe confirmed.

"Right." That was a little concerning.

Rafe found the page he needed and read silently for a little while, then abruptly turned to Sully. "I want my own section of the island."

Sully blinked. "Come again?"

"Just like I have my own room, I want a part of the island that's mine. Somewhere you and Samuel can't come unless I allow it. I need a place to get away for a bit that isn't surrounded by walls."

"That's a pretty tall order kid," Sully sipped from his beer and considered it. "I could agree to that- not half the island, of course, but a reasonable space that you can mark off as your own. You'll just have to promise me that you won't abuse the privilege and use it to avoid 'talks', or chores, or anything else like that. If we need you for anything and come calling at the border, I expect you to come out or one of us will come looking for you."

"Yeah, yeah," Rafe waved a hand dismissively. "I can agree to those terms."

"…And, of course, there's the condition I gave you earlier."

Rafe paused, then he set the book down, straightened up, and turned fully towards Sam. Without batting an eye, he said, "I apologize for my earlier statement. Regardless of how much I dislike you personally, I should not have brought your mother into it. I would appreciate it if we could put this behind us."

Sam was too stunned to say anything other than, "Yeah… Ok."

Rafe turned expectantly towards Sully.

After that, how could he say no? Sully shrugged. "Alright, then. We'll have to figure out a way that you can mark an area off."

"Get some trail markers." Rafe tucked the book under his arm and walked off towards his room. He paused at the hallway and glanced back at the bottles on the table. "Are we recycling those?"

"We haven't been, no," Sully answered. "Why?"

"Start," Rafe said simply. "And don't be throwing your cigarette butts around, either. I don't want my part of the island full of trash." With that, he disappeared, and a few minutes later they heard his door shut.

Sam looked at Sully. "You can't tell me that he isn't up to something now."


End file.
